


Three-Headed Dog

by brunetta6, Mamabatz



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AND ITS HELLA TRAUMATIZING, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Caleb Widogast Angst, Caleb gets pretty fucked up in this, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Fjorester, HE REALLY WANTS LOVE, I am making this shit up as I go, Leofric Ermendrud - Freeform, M/M, Past Bren Aldric Ermendrud/Astrid/Eodwulf - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, Widofjorester, Widojest - Freeform, also, because he really needs love, but he'll only accept what he thinks he deserves, feebleminded!caleb, guess what gents it's officially a fjorestfire fic, im a dm irl, sorta some domestic tension, widofjord, will add more tags as they become relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 133,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brunetta6/pseuds/brunetta6, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamabatz/pseuds/Mamabatz
Summary: During the first night of TravelerCon, Caleb encounters a woman that he wronged in his youth; someone he never imagined he would see again.Now, events that occurred over seventeen years ago - and the advice of Jester Lavorre - seal his fate on the crown of a mace, leading the man who was "Bren Aldric Ermendrud" into a web of lies, love, violence, enchantment, family once lost, and the doom of all his past deeds.  But he won't be going alone.  (Canon-divergent, post-CR2Ep107.)
Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast, Fjord/Jester Lavorre, Fjord/Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast, Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 187
Kudos: 248





	1. Reassuring to Hear

**Author's Note:**

> There are probably a LOT of canon divergent CritRole fics with a focus on story and characters which have heart wrenching angst and slow burn romance, while NOT shying away from the fact that Caleb is still a pretty fucked up individual where relationships are concerned-- OH WAIT. (Heck it, I'll make it myself.)
> 
> Anyway, I had a gnarly dream after watching Cr2 Ep106 that birthed this monstrosity. Strap yourselves in. It's gonna be a bumpy ride. (Edit: Got to watch Ep107 live and so IT'S HAPPENING AFTER 107!!)
> 
> Canon divergent! Takes place right after CR2Ep107.

“They’re all here they’re all here _they’re all here,_ oh my _god,_ what am I going to say to them?! There’s so many more people than I was expecting!!”

Caleb glanced up from his book, watching Jester putter around Vilya’s treetop home. His eyes subconsciously wandered down her shape in the fading sunlight and a swirling galaxy of glowing dust motes. The glass beads on the ends of her skirt chimed against each other like bells, her blue skin flushed purple in her freckled cheeks. Her violet eyes were alight and nervous. Absolutely breathtaking. As always.

The wizard felt his heart skip a beat. He quickly looked back down at his book.

The village once called Vo was bustling with new faces, green cloaks everywhere. There were nearly two hundred people in the village, all collected outside around a blazing green bonfire and all waiting to hear their “high priestess” speak. The Mighty Nein had been as much help as they could, assisting Jester with anything and everything. Veth had been assigned housing management, Yasha working with her to help build lean-to shelters out of spare green fabric. Fjord and Beau had been assigned to stay at the shore and -- with varying degrees of success -- greet the newcoming followers of the Traveler. Even now, on the day of the festival, there were still people trickling in, giving Caduceus little room to breathe in his task of cooking and keeping the chaotic Traveler cultists relatively calm; it would be counterproductive if any of them wandered into the forest… although at this point, Caleb wondered if that might be an acceptable loss. Caleb, meanwhile, had lent his transmutation and illusory magic into creating decorations for the festival. He had even collaborated with Veth during a spare moment to make custom fireworks. They had -- what they hoped -- were passable firework images of Vokodo dissolving into sludge, Jester’s face, the Traveler’s green cloak, and several penises. The preparations were nearly all in place. At sundown tonight, Jester would make her grand speech to set off the festivities. There was only one catch. Apparently she had no idea what she was going to say.

“Where is Fjord? Maybe I can ask Fjord what he would say!” Jester blurted, smoothing the wrinkles in her dress. “He’s good at talking! Where is he?”

“Still down at the beach,” Yasha murmured. “Want me to go get him?”

Jester pouted. “No… I guess I can figure it out on my own…”

“Okay, well… I’ll go out anyway. Help get things ready, and… stuff.”

Suddenly, Veth poked her head in through the leafy curtains. “You’re on in five, High Priestess!” she squeaked, Yasha passing her to go outside. “Break a leg!”

“Oh god, oh god, what if I break my leg?!” Jester wailed, covering her face as their halfling friend ducked out. She turned to their wizard, who was still sitting quietly in the corner. “Oh, that would be so _embarrassing,_ Cayleb!”

Caleb put his book down with a sigh. His own green cloak trailed against the floor as he stood, looking firmly at her. “Jester. Look at me.”

Big, teary violet eyes fixed on him.

For a moment, Caleb forgot how to speak… but he swallowed and cleared his throat, gazing down at her with a smile as weak as his knees. “You can _do_ this,” he murmured hoarsely. “Okay…?”

“But I— Cayleb…” 

Her tears spilled over. 

Caleb’s heart sank at the sight. “Wh… What’s wrong?” he asked weakly.

“I don’t know if I _should!”_ Jester told him, oblivious to his aching heart. She sniffed and wiped at her cheeks, flushing all the way up to the tips of her ears. “I— I don’t _know_ , Cayleb… Ever since that time in the forest, I… I don’t know where to _land_ , Cayleb. I-I know you said you would support me, whatever I decided, but now I have to give a big amazing speech in front of a bunch of people and I don’t know what I should-- should _say_...”

Caleb’s lips parted, his throat contracting. Instinctively, he turned to see if there was anyone else in the room. Anyone else that could help. Anyone that would be a better person to speak to her… Someone who could reassure her…

There was no one. It was just him.

Caleb took a deep, tremulous breath, doing his best to brace himself -- laying supports down around his heart, so that she wouldn’t see the helpless, hopeless love that leaked out of him whenever she was around -- and looked down at the floor. “Do you want them to turn against the Traveler?”

“N-No! No, I… I want them to love the Traveler…”

“Do you love the Traveler?”

Jester sniffed. “I-I _did…_ ”

Caleb bit the inside of his cheek, turning it over in his brain. Long seconds passed by in the room, only the soft weeping of the second love of his life and the chiming clatter of glass beads there to break the silence.

“Then… talk to them about how you came to love the Traveler,” Caleb murmured, finally managing to look her in the eyes for a moment. “Talk to them about… what drew you to him. About how you grew up with him. Talk to them, about not feeling alone anymore. Tell them… that he is not omnipotent -- e-even if you think he is, he is not, Jester. We have seen that his power has limits. This, um…”

He made a soft, helpless gesture. “This will make him seem more relatable, ja?”

Jester wiped away her tears, nodding. “Y-Yeah…”

“Tell them that… he is a gardener for the seeds of chaos. That he loves mischief and green. The little things that you love. Tell them that…”

Caleb hesitated, but he pushed forward. “I-If you want to, you can _tell_ them that you have doubts. That it’s not unusual to have doubts in life… and, the Traveler encourages exploration. The Traveler wants… friends. Chaos. Mischief. That there is more glory in a good life than in blind faith. If… If I were in that audience, that is something that I would find very reassuring to hear…”

There was a moment of silence… then a weak little laugh escaped her lips. Caleb looked up just in time to see her smile. 

“Maybe _you_ should give the speech, hah?” Jester teased, offering him a halfhearted grin. She gave him a gentle punch in the shoulder.

Caleb couldn’t help but smile, rubbing the spot. “Ow.”

Jester coughed and _laughed,_ still rubbing at her cheeks, but no longer crying. She cast a quick cantrip to clean herself up, even as a thrill of pride and adoration swept through the wizard’s chest. Gods above and below, she was beautiful…

“Okay!” she declared. “I’m, um… gonna go out now.”

The little blue tiefling beamed at him. “Wish me luck?”

Caleb nodded. “J-Ja…”

He cleared his throat and collected his things, starting to hurry from the room. “I’ll be outside. Watching your speech.”

“I can’t wait for the dick fireworks!”

Caleb chuckled softly, gave her a little nod, and brushed the curtain of leaves to one side.

Descending into the dusty town center of Vo, the shabby, ginger-haired wizard carefully picked his way through the sea of green cloaks. The smell of vegetation and sea air, dirt and sweat, baked goods and tea filled his nose. It was a peach and blueberry and strawberry sunset, with orange, scarlet, and pink streaking through the sky overhead. Scattered stars -- like grains of sugar -- shone on the blued eastern horizon, as Caleb found a spot in the shade of the trees. Far enough away from the crowd, but close enough to have an amazing view of a high priestess coming into her own.

Caleb settled down, watching the mouth of the tree with the others, and waited.

**…**

**-1 Hour Earlier-**

“These guys are really cutting it close, whoever they are,” Beau muttered dryly. “I think Jester is making her big speech at sunset. They better hurry this shit up.”

Fjord handed over the coconut. “Amen to that.”

Fjord and Beau sat on the beach, trading sips from a coconut as they looked out over the ocean; there was a small ship approaching, seemingly the last one before Travelercon would start in earnest. Both the warlock and his first mate were sunburnt despite the herbal cream Caduceus had given them to rub all over their skin. “I’ll be glad once we don’t have to be the greeting party anymore,” Fjord admitted. “They’ll be able to find their _own_ damn way through the forest. Speaking of big speeches though--”

He gave Beau a smirk. “How’s that thing with Yasha coming?”

The monk groaned audibly, leaning back. “Oh my _god,_ don’t start that again.”

“Hey, I’m just saying.”

“And I’m just saying that-- y’know! She’s been through a lot!” Beau insisted, still flushing under her sunburn. She slugged the last of the coconut milk back and stood up with Fjord, both of them smacking the sand from their butts for the umpteenth time that day. “I’m not gonna be the one to go…”

She sputtered, then lowered her voice. “‘Heyyyyyy, Yashaaaaa… I know you’re still getting over your amazing dead wife and shit but I totally saw you looking at me...? And you took me flying? And we haaaad… liiiike… this weird _moment_ , y’know? Where I totally felt like my stomach was gonna fall out my ass ‘cuz you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous? You wanna _fuuuuuuck?’_ Like… c’mon, man. What are we, like, sixteen? Naw, man… I know there was totally somethin’ happening there but… I dunno. I don’t wanna assume and say something and then make things weird if I’m reading too much into it. You feel me?”

Fjord shrugged, still smirking a little to himself even though he seemed a bit more somber. “Yes. I suppose I do.”

They both waved at the small ship. A single figure on the deck -- tiny from this distance, but still identifiable from their vibrant green cloak -- waved back to them. 

“Looks like it’s just one more. Thank fuck...” Beau sighed in relief, dragging their little rowboat back into the surf. She grunted with effort and jumped in. Fjord tossed her the oars and got in too; they fit the long wooden shafts into their rowlocks with the ease of practice and Beau got to work. Salty foam splashed up over the side of the boat as they cleared the white water, rowing them out closer towards the passing ship.

“Speaking _of,_ though--” Beau deadpanned.

Fjord eyed her suspiciously as their rowboat cruised up to the side of the merchant ship. A rope ladder unrolled from the deck; he caught it with barely a glance and held it securely, squinting at Beau. “Speaking of _what?”_

Beau grinned at him, raising a brow. “You and _Jester_ have been closer lately.”

“A-Ah, I-- Pfffffff… what? No. Oh look, there’s a person in our boat!” Fjord exclaimed, flushing a deep green and occupying himself thoroughly with their new guest. “Hey! Hi. Welcome to Travelercon! What’s _your_ name, milady?”

A tall human woman half fell into the rowboat. 

“Ah! Oh, ah… Emmeline Becker.”

Beau blinked. “That a Zemnian accent?”

Fjord actually stopped and looked at her curiously. As far as he could tell, Emmeline was built like a willow branch, a slender body wrapped in a travel-worn dress. Plain in the face, in her late thirties, she was a human woman with premature lines around her eyes and threads of silver in her sun-bleached hair; her most remarkable features were her eyes, intelligent and such a dark brown they looked black in the fading sun. Scars had faded around her forehead and jaw, and her nose had been broken twice. This was a woman who had taken a beating or ten in her life. It showed in her wary, uncertain posture and in the well-used, dull iron mace at her side. She was already closing her green cloak, hiding what belongings she might have been carrying. 

She gave them a wary look. “Is that a problem?” she asked in a soft Zemnian accent.

Fjord raised a hand reassuringly just as her fingers started to slide towards her weapon. “Oh! No, no! Trust me, no. It’s just, ah… you must have traveled a long way to be here.”

Beau started rowing again, back towards the shore. “Yeah. We got a buddy who’s Zemnian.”

Emmeline gave them both a look… then took her hand off her weapon and just gazed towards the beach. As her cloak fell closed, Beau caught a glimpse of two things before the green fabric obscured her view. A small but thick tome -- bound in sun-yellow leather and gold -- weighed on her hip, an expensive-looking component pouch, with dozens of pockets and small bottles woven into the line of her belt. A spellbook and component pouch.

Beau glanced over at Fjord, meeting his eyes, and signed subtly to him in. _Spellcaster._

The half-orc nodded, looking impressed but not surprised. Most of the followers of the Traveler they had escorted to the beach were just common people. There were maybe three or four spellcasters, but nothing past a few cantrips and a few first level spell slots.

Fjord cleared his throat as they made landfall, helping the older woman out of the boat; Beau collected the oars, dragged it back up into the trees, and covered it with palm fronds as the other two walked into the trees. “So! How did you come to find out about our little event?” he asked charmingly, starting on the same questions they had been asking everyone. “From a friend? From the man himself?”

“I was told,” Emmeline replied calmly. 

Fjord waited for her to continue. She didn’t. “...Uh. Okay.”

She glanced at him sidelong… then she sighed and tried to give him a weak smile. “I apologize. It has been a long few weeks of travel,” she confessed, looking genuinely apologetic. “I ran into terrible things while on a road so long. I _am_ glad to be here. I truly am. I apologize if I seem--”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Beau replied, red as a lobster. “It’s been a hell of a day for us too.”

Emmeline chuckled slightly. “I can see that. What were your names again…?”

“I’m Beauregard.”

“Beauregard… that is a strong name. It means ‘handsome look,’” Emmeline observed, her thin lips curving crookedly. “I like it.”

The monk looked pleased. “Thanks. And this is Fjord. Or--” she made a tired gesture towards her friend, “--Captain Tusktooth. Whichever floats your boat.”

“J-Just Fjord is fine, thanks.”

Emmeline looked awkwardly to the side, her smile lopsided as she ducked under a low hanging branch. “Fjord as in… an inlet between two large cliffs?”

“I-- maybe?” Fjord frowned at Beau. “I thought a fjord was a lake.”

The monk thought about it, squinting into the air, then shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Let’s ask Caleb when we get back.”

“Yeah… ahem! So! Miss Becker! Whereabouts in the Empire are you from?”

Emmeline chewed on the inside of her cheek, her expression falling. Her intelligent black eyes flickered to the trees around them, no longer making eye contact with either one of them. “I’d rather not say,” she murmured, vulnerability palpable in her voice, her good humor from moments earlier vanishing.

“I mean… that’s okay. Just-- You know, curious.”

Beau stepped up beside her, trying to catch the Zemnian woman’s eyes, but the blonde didn’t reciprocate, keeping her eyes down on the forest floor. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you here, Em. Anything dangerous that’s here on this island, our little group took care of it. Okay? You can loosen up. Promise.”

Emmeline hesitated. “...You promise?”

“Hey, cross my heart and hope to die,” Beau replied dryly, drawing her finger across her chest with a smirk. “And we don’t gotta talk about where you’re from if you don’t wanna talk.”

The older woman sighed in relief, smiling at Beau. “Thank you...”

Beau shrugged casually. “Hey, Traveler’s cool as fuck according to your high priestess.”

“High priestess?”

“Yeah. Her name’s Jester Lavorre, and she’s cool as fuck too. She’ll be sorta leading the activities for Travelercon. This is her event.”

Emmeline brightened. “Oh? What is she like?”

“Well you’ll get to meet her, I imagine. So, y’know, hang tight and make some friends with your fellow green cloaks and I’m sure she’ll come say hello.”

“She’s the blue tiefling,” Fjord interjected.

“O-Oh, yeah. That’s kinda important, for uh, differentiating her from the crowd... Yeah! Blue tiefling. Cute as hell.”

Emmeline smiled warmly, shrugging a little deeper into her cloak. “I look forward to meeting her,” she murmured. “I’m… happy to be here…”

The Zemnian woman followed them through the brush, along time-worn dirt paths and past trail signs carved into the trees, for close to forty more minutes. As they drew closer to Vo, Fjord and Beau started to let down their guard a little more; hundreds of hushed, excited voices reached them through the trees, buzzing pleasantly against Emmeline’s eardrums. She found herself straightening up taller to her full height, walking slower to take in the exotic village and the sea of people splayed out between houses. A bright green bonfire blazed in the middle of it all. Everyone’s attention was focused on a huge tree in the center of the village. Excitement was palpable in the air…

Suddenly, someone emerged from the tree. The crowd buzzed for a moment, then seemed to fall back to its normal energy as a large, pale, muscular woman with black and white locks climbed down to the ground.

Beauregard piped up. “I’m, uh… gonna go say hi to Yasha.”

Emmeline turned to look, but the tan woman had somehow already raced halfway over to the newly named “Yasha.” She turned to say something to Fjord, but the half orc had already moved away from her too; she spotted him next to a massive, pink-haired firbolg in a wide straw hat, serving tea from a handmade pot. The Zemnian woman shifted uncomfortably… but she went to go sit on the edge of the crowd. She settled in far enough away from the crowd, but just close enough to have a good view of Priestess Jester whenever she emerged.

She fiddled with her hair for a minute, then finally risked taking out her spellbook. She didn’t cast Dancing Lights. Not yet, not when it would draw attention to her. Besides, there was just enough sunlight and firelight to read by…

Suddenly, the crowd whispered and hummed again. Emmeline looked up, her spine pulled upright with anticipation.

There was a man stepping down from the tree.

The crowd’s energy died back down… but Emmeline’s eyes slowly widened. Her ears began to ring… a hollow howl of distant _rage_ buzzing in the back of her skull.

She didn’t move. Her black eyes fixed to the single point where she had first _recognized_ him, but her awareness focused on the red-haired monster making his way quietly through the crowd. His gentle “excuse me” as he stepped around her settled into her ears like an ember in dry brush. Crawling its searing, burning way into her brain… slowly burning away at her resolve. Her ears rang louder… and louder…

In the back of her mind, Emmeline wondered -- distantly -- what might happen if she turned, wrapped her hands around his throat, and choked him to death.

Probably nothing good.

The Zemnian woman took a shaky breath and pulled up her hood with trembling hands, trying to reel herself in. This wasn’t why she was here. She wasn’t here to find someone like him. Why was he _here?_ Gods _damn him, why was he_ **_here?!_ ** Her black eyes flickered across the grass, the roar of blood in her ears drowning out the sudden cheers of the crowd. Time melted around her. The sky grew darker, deeper blue. Green flames blazed brighter, clawing towards the sky. Her entire existence boiled down to the screaming, unexploded kernel of rage in her chest, the white-hot figure of _that person_ behind her…

She stayed where she was, not trusting herself to move.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Emmeline sucked in a strangled breath and looked up into a concerned face. Violet eyes. Blue skin. Horns. Tiefling. Green dress.

“...Priestess,” she exhaled. 

Jester spread her arms dramatically. “Yes! It is me, your priestess!” she declared, quickly adding on a “My child,” for good measure.

Emmeline cast a rapid glance around her. Most of the crowd had dispersed. Some were darting in and out of the trees, playing hide and seek. Others were heading down to the beach with armfuls of fireworks… including a halfling woman, Beauregard, and **_him_ **. Emmeline’s rage swelled again like a wave of magma, locking onto his profile -- his piercing blue eyes and red hair, unchanged by age lines and a tentative smile…

Then he passed beyond the trees, and was gone.

Emmeline groaned softly and rested her face in her hands. She could feel heat _radiating_ from her skin as she desperately tried to keep herself in check. “I am sorry, Priestess…” she whispered. “I am… having difficulty…”

Jester plopped down next to her. “Yeah? What kind of difficulties? Uh-- I mean, what sort of difficulties, _my child?”_ she announced magnanimously, rocking back and forth playfully.

Emmeline glanced sidelong at her. “Are you… _mocking_ me?” she whispered roughly.

Jester stilled, mouth dropping open. “Wha-- ah? N-No! No, I’m not mocking! I just-- you know, I thought that’s how all high priests and priestesses talked. They-- you _knowwww_ , they call everyone _my child,_ and say that they got a _flock,_ and um…”

The Zemnian woman coughed a mirthless laugh. She smiled miserably and dropped her face into her hands again.

Jester closed her mouth. She shifted uncomfortably. “What, um… What’s wrong?”

Emmeline took another draining, shaky breath, cold fingers sliding down to her overheated throat. Her skin was _crawling_ , like the sea salt coating her flesh had shrunk down, compacting her inner organs and restricting her lungs. It was hard to keep breathing. All she could focus on was the old pain nestled in long-healed bones, healed for nearly seventeen years now… but…

“What does… the Traveler say concerning _vengeance?”_

Her priestess opened her mouth, closed her mouth, and wrinkled her button nose, visibly considering it. “I mean… what kinda vengeance? Are we talkingggg… these people stole your _pen,_ orrrr… they screwed your boyfriend, or… Did they kill someone you love? Like, scale of one tooooo-- unforgivable. One to totally unforgivable. Gimme a number.”

Emmeline’s voice came out an octave lower than normal. “ _Unforgivable_.”

Jester pursed her lips, brows shooting up. “Oh. Gotcha. Well, ummm…” Emmeline turned her head, regarding the only authority within her new faith that she had as the young blue tiefling thought about it. “I guess, um…” The priestess peeked at her. “Are they bad people? Like-- really, really bad?”

“Yes.”

Jester huffed and shrugged. “I mean, there’s no other option than to fuck ‘em up then, right?”

Emmeline stared at her, the skin tightening around her eyes… then she slowly turned her gaze back to the treeline. 

Somehow, a sense of calm washed over her, like a healing balm.

Suddenly, Yasha tapped Jester on the shoulder. “Hey, Jester? The pantsing competition has kinda turned ugly,” she whispered, looking a little worried.

“Are there dicks out??” Jester exclaimed. “Oh wow! Okay, um--” She got up, giving Emmeline a quick couple of pats on her shoulder. “It was good talking with you! Love each other! I guess! Talk to you later!” 

With that, the priestess rushed off with Yasha, the rattle of glass beads chiming with every step.

Emmeline watched her go… then stood up slowly.

…

 _“Pull!”_ Veth yelled.

Caleb watched -- a fire bolt at his fingertips -- as the halfling woman pulled the lever on their homemade catapult. A firework shot high over their heads, and just as it was at its zenith, he fired. A shower of green sparks burst over the surf, raining down on the heads of excited Traveler followers; they laughed and splashed one another, running around in the crashing foam as Veth ran off to get the next firework. 

He couldn’t help but smile softly, watching them tumble over one another like toddlers.

Footsteps crunched quietly through the sand behind him. Caleb hid his little smile, cleared his throat, and turned, expecting a member of the Nein. Instead, he saw a tall, blonde woman walk down the dune right towards him. 

He analyzed her approach… then saw her take out a spellbook and a tiny glass vial.

Caleb’s hackles instantly went up. He took a step back, but he was too slow to react as the stranger uncorked the vial and swiped its contents towards him in a vicious arc. A drop of sweet oil struck his eyes, a whispered incantation creeping into his ears. He swore and rubbed at his eyes. “ _Fuck--_ ”

The numbness spread…

Caleb shivered, pupils contracting to pinpoints.

Emmeline stopped, watching, feeling almost disembodied as her Suggestion spell took hold. “Walk with me peacefully until I tell you to stop,” she whispered.

Caleb stared at her.

Almost robotically, he stepped up over the dunes and walked over to her, obeying without question. Emmeline felt her fingers slide around his arm, her internal organs clenched and trembling as she hung off his arm and pulled her hood up over her hair. She took Caleb off the beaten path, walking him deeper and deeper into the dark jungle.

Meanwhile, back on the beach, Veth dropped another firework into the catapult. “Pull!” she yelled, pushed down on the lever.

The firework soared overhead… and fell into the ocean with an unceremonious _plop_.

 _“AHH!_ What the hell, Caleb--?!”

Veth turned, and saw an empty space where Caleb had been standing. 

She blinked. “...Caleb?”

…

Insects clicked and squeaked around them in droves. 

Caleb was… _loosely aware_ of what was happening. That was a good way of phrasing his general existence at the moment -- “loosely aware.” It was like the moments of sleep before he roused in the morning; a numb, floating sensation, leaving him sure to return to the world of the waking at any moment. He knew he was under a spell, but somehow it didn’t alarm him. The warm numbness that had spread in his eyes had settled in his brain and leaked down his spine like the most effective of painkillers. The thing that concerned him the most was… where were they going?

He hadn’t been told to be silent, so he asked. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know yet.” 

The stranger’s black eyes were burning, filled to the brim with finality, even as she admitted to her own uncertainty. She waved a hand -- five globules of light spreading out in a line in front of them, cutting through the pitch darkness and casting long, black, eerie shadows -- as they walked. “Keep going. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

“... Alright,” Caleb mumbled agreeably, stepping carefully over a root.

They kept walking into the blackness and silence, following her Dancing Lights for hours… and hours… until even the sound of insects died away.

The moon rose higher. 

…

It was nearly two in the morning. After seven hours of partying, most of the Travelercon attendees had either passed out from drink or curled up under trees for a long nap, and Veth had half a mind to join them. She yawned, stretching and scratching at a sand flea bite on her backside.

Familiar footsteps crunched through the sand behind her. 

Caduceus smiled down at her peacefully… then looked out over the scattered, sleeping bodies curled up under the palm trees. “Holding down the fort out here?” he asked her bemusedly.

“Most certainly!” Veth replied, a little loopy from exhaustion. She scowled and huffed. “No thanks to Caleb, though! He left in the middle of his shift! Would you _believe_ that?! Normally he’s so responsible!”

Caduceus frowned. “Caleb left? When?”

“Oh, _hours_ ago.” Veth peered up at him. “I figured he went back to camp for a snack, or went on a walk. Have you not seen him?”

“No…” the firbolg murmured uncertainly. “But I _have_ been busy.”

“We’ve _all_ been busy.”

“Yes…” 

Caduceus hesitated, then reached into his belt pouch and unrolled a short piece of fine copper wire. Veth pointed up at him. “I tried Messaging him. He was out of range.”

“Oh, no. I’m gonna do Sending.”

“Ohhhhhh. Gotcha.” Veth flopped down onto her blanket, pointing up into the air with aplomb. “Give him a good tongue lashing for me!”

The firbolg chuckled and traced a softly glowing sigil in the air, whispering the arcane words to himself. He cleared his throat, organizing his thoughts... Then, he held the wire to his mouth, focusing on their wayward wizard. He felt the connection fall into place. “Hey. Caleb.”

…

_Hey. Caleb. Nott says you left, and I haven’t seen you all night. We’re going to bed soon. Everything okay?_

Caleb looked up, exhaustion dragging at his limbs, but he kept going. Caduceus’s warm, sleepy voice was a welcome respite from nearly seven hours of walking. The volcano loomed overhead like a hungry behemoth, globs of blackened rock still cooling from Vokodo’s eruption. They were close to the edge of the treeline. The smell of burning vegetation was strong. He was pretty sure his bare feet had been bleeding for miles. Everything below his knees felt raw, but the pain and exhaustion felt distant through the pleasant, numb haze.

“Ja. I’m fine. My body hurts but I’m fine. I just went on a walk… long walk… with a-- woman?”

Caleb glanced sidelong at the stranger. Her black eyes flickered over to him suspiciously. He only had five more words to respond to Caduceus with. If it took them seven hours to walk out here, there was little chance of arriving back at camp even with a full stack of Polymorphs… Maybe it was best to just head back in the morning.

“See you in the morning,” he finished.

…

Caduceus’s ears flicked, his brows rising in surprise as he listened to Caleb’s reply. “...Huh.”

“Huh?” Veth sat up, squinting up at him. “‘Huh’ what?” she demanded. “What does ‘huh’ mean?!”

The cleric tucked his Sending wire away and picked up his staff. “I think he’s getting laid.”

“WHAT?!”

“Best not to disturb him.”

“I’m sorry-- WHAT?!” Veth screeched, scrambling after him. “Who?! Who’s getting laid?!”

“I don’t know. He said he was with a woman and his body kinda hurt. He sounded relaxed, though. Real relaxed. He said he’d be back in the morning, though.”

_“WHAT?!”_

They left the beach, the halfling making various sounds of disbelief as they went back to Vo. The scene in the village was much the same, with clusters of cloaks dozing under trees and their improvised shelters. 

In the dying light of the green bonfire, Caduceus spotted Jester sleeping up against a tree. Her mouth was wide open and snoring, her face covered with frosting. He grunted softly and picked her up, carrying her over to Vilya’s tree.

Jester mumbled and stirred in his arms. “Caduceus…?”

“Hey, Jester. You enjoy your first big night of Travelercon?”

Her brows furrowed. “It was a lot…” she admitted sleepily. “Some people… they ask you really tough questions, you know? Questions that you don’t really know how to answer… I had one person ask me how the Traveler handles _vengeance._ Like… really hardcore vengeance! I don’t knowwww…”

“Shhh…”

Caduceus brushed aside the vine curtain and laid Jester down in her makeshift bed. Fjord, Beau, and Yasha were already there, sprawled out and sleeping. As indignant as she was, Veth huffed and flopped down into her bed, eyeing Caleb’s empty spot as Caduceus tucked Jester in. “Tomorrow is another day,” the big firbolg murmured, smiling down at her. “Sleep now…”

…

Emmeline forced her way through the last few layers of underbrush, panting hard as they finally broke through and stepped up onto a glassy, still-warm pond of new obsidian. The raw black stone spread all the way up to the edge of the volcano, leaving an eerily smooth surface that her shoes clicked on. Every sound they made bounced back towards the trees as she exhaled in relief, pulling her hood down and closing her eyes. Both she and Caleb were soaked through with sweat and covered with bug bites. The cool wind and white moonlight felt like the blessing of a god.

She caught her breath, sitting down…

Caleb approached, leaving bloody footprints on the smooth rock as he did. He winced with every step, but finally, he stopped next to her, looking around with his contracted pupils. “...Are we stopping?”

Emmeline looked up at him, into those enthralled blue eyes…

Then, she took out her spellbook, and opened it to another page. “Yes,” she murmured. Her free hand traced arcane runes in the air, layering another spell on top of her last enchantment. Caleb flinched, grunting in distress and touching his head, wrinkling his nose like he smelled something off. “We can stop.”

Her Suggestion faded. 

Panic fought for control over his thoughts. Caleb’s lungs seized in the beginnings of a panic attack. “Fuck— _fuck…!”_

Caleb took a step back, half falling to one trembling knee just as his pupils expanded, so wide that only a thin ring of blue remained of his irises. He shivered one more time... and her Charm Person spell sunk its claws into his mind. He let out a sound of distress, searching his surroundings for something that made sense— for a reason _why_ his panic attack had stopped dead in its tracks. “This is a…” 

He swallowed, looking at the woman whose name he didn’t know, and yet he trusted beyond a doubt. “This is an odd place to stop,” he told her, that unnatural, pleasant calm slowly bringing him back down. “Why did we, ah… come all the way out here? I could have polymorphed us. Could have gotten here much f-fas— ma’am, I-I feel _sick_. Do you feel sick?”

“A little,” Emmeline admitted softly. 

“M-Maybe… it was the bugs, or…”

She watched him look around in a panic for a moment, just watching him… then, finally, she spoke. Quietly. Calmly. Like one might speak to a cow before it was slaughtered. “What’s your name?”

“I…” Caleb chuckled nervously. His pupils expanded wider. “That is a complicated question.”

“What is the name you go by?”

“C-Caleb. Caleb Widogast.”

Emmeline smiled halfheartedly. “Is that something you made up?” 

Caleb’s breath snagged in his throat. Something caught and wrinkled against the enchantment, but her magic caught it, grabbed it, and smoothed it out. His mind struggled to catch up with the whiplash. He made a half formed sound, swallowed, and scowled down at the rock. “Ah… yes,” he murmured in confusion. “It… is. I’m sorry, but… how did we get here…? What are we doing here—?”

She opened her spellbook again.

Something in Caleb screamed at him to slap it closed. Another, stronger part of him told him to trust her. Before he could make up his mind, she was casting Modify Memory, telepathically grabbing the recollection of the moment he saw her and _twisting_ it to her will. 

Caleb stiffened like he had been shocked. “Mm—!”

_“We met down on the beach. I propositioned you. You said yes, because you were lonely and you felt like you needed it.”_

Emmeline focused on the core structure of the enchantment, and erased the last ten seconds of their conversation. She watched the wizard shiver and grow still, his eyes reopening. His eyes darted back and forth like dragonflies on the water…

Caleb’s cheeks flooded a deep, burning scarlet. He cleared his throat, then looked up at her with shamed eyes. “I-I am, ah… I’m sorry for misleading you, ma’am,” he apologized softly. “But I-I really am not… ready for that sort of—“

She shifted towards him.

Caleb’s eyes widened in alarm. He moved back, struggling with the suppressed urge to slap her away. “I— I said yes in the moment!” he claimed, a hint of desperation coloring his voice. “There is… there is someone else. I can’t. Please, I don’t even know your name…”

“Emmeline Becker.”

That cold, angry voice cut through the haze.

Layers of enchantments wrapped his brain like invisible, soft, brutalizing ropes… but Caleb remembered that name.

Blood trickled from his nose. A blood vessel popped in his eye as conflicting memories cut against each other. His brain struggled to find a common thread, and even with his incredible intelligence, came up with _nothing._ Something was wrong here. Something was very very wrong. Humiliation and confusion and terror _swamped_ him. 

He scrambled for his spellbook. To what ends, he had no idea.

Emmeline grabbed a handful of marbles from her belt pouch. To what ends, she knew _precisely_.

They yanked open their spellbooks at the same time, Caleb hurling a spinning blue net of antimagic just as she cast the broken glass into the air. His Counterspell abjuration smacked into the huge, still-forming enchantment. Caleb winced at the arcane pushback, panic finally erupting like a wild flame as he realized she was _attacking_ him; he closed his fingers around the abjuration, thinking frantically as he watched the runes pulse and glow in the air, scrambling for a way to unravel her spell before it was complete— but it wasn’t enough.

The glass marbles whirled and shattered, the powder glowing like diamonds in the moonlight. Emmeline _roared_ and thrust a clawed hand at him.

For an instant, it just felt like a bee had stung him…

Then, Caleb’s intellect and personality _shattered_ . In the last moments of human awareness, he remembered this feeling. He remembered this same sensation piercing his being— stripping away everything that made him Bren Aldrich Ermendrud, reducing him to a mindless, helpless animal that had to be held in an asylum for _eleven years_.

His spellbook toppled to the ground. He turned to run.

A mace struck him in the side of the head. His vision went white.

Caleb half fell to the ground, gasping in pain as his bleeding feet struck the stone. His ears rang. His vision swam. There was blood in his eyes. He got up as fast as he could, panting and gasping and stumbling like a wounded doe as he tried desperately to get away— then, another spell wrapped itself around him. His arms and legs froze where they were. As footsteps rushed towards him, the feebleminded wizard dissolved into a full hysteric fit, blood pouring from his nose and vessels bursting in his eyes. 

**_StopnopleaseanythingfuckfuckstopSTOPSTOPSTOPPLEASE—_ **

The next blow cracked his skull. Blood poured into his eyes.

Emmeline kicked his immobile, twitching body down and straddled him. She grabbed her mace with both hands, raised it overhead, and brought it down. Every separate blow was meant to kill.She didn’t stop hitting him. She wasn’t sure that she could. 

Far above them, the moon watched; her only witness that single, baleful silver eye.

Thud.

Crack.

_Crunch._

**_Splat._ **


	2. A Faulty Wire, Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attempts to contact Caleb fail. Meanwhile, the Mighty Nein's unusual encounters from the previous evening take on a more sinister light.

Jester let out a huffy little noise, jumping up and down to brace herself. “Hooooo… Okay. Okay okay okay… You can do this, Jester! Everyone believes in you! Hoo… hoo!  _ Yeah!!” _

She burst out of Vilya’s tree and leaped into the night, arms thrown high as a roaring sea of green met her. They were clapping and cheering, jumping up and down in excitement! She could spot her party members clapping too! 

Even Caleb was applauding, smiling softly as he sat beneath the dappled shade of the trees. 

“Woo hoo!! Yeah! Hello, everyone!!” Jester crowed.

She beckoned for them to sit down. “Please, please! My  _ children,”  _ she trilled happily, giggling at the way it sounded. She struck a dramatic pose. “ _ I  _ am your High Priestess Lavorre!”

The answering cheer was so loud it nearly bowled her over. Jester sputtered, knocked off her rhythm for a moment. “Whoah. Um. Yes! Love the enthusiasm! Um—“

She looked out over the crowd, searching for Caleb.

The wizard gave her a little smile and a nod, awkward, but silently encouraging. 

Neither of them had any idea that the next time she saw him, his corpse would be three days rotten.

Jester took a deep breath… and finally began to speak. “You might be wondering why I am the high priestess!” she declared, hands flying as she talked with them. “Well, I am the high priestess because I met him first! A-And because I love him the most. He is not, um— not all powerful, no! But! He is  _ better _ than some normal stinky old god! Normal, stinky old gods make you follow  _ rules _ and make you  _ fast  _ and the Traveler does none of that! You can eat whatever you want! You can do whatever you want! He is, ah—  _ a gardener of chaos!  _ And we are the seeds! Heeeeee wants us tooo… spring up! All over the world! And be  _ super mischievous  _ all the time! Keep everyone on their toes! But, um… the most important thing about the Traveler is that, um…”

Jester laid both her hands over her heart, smiling weakly. “He wants to be your friend first of all! Not, um— Not your god. He does not want… offerings or rules. He is just… a cool guy, you know? And we all should celebrate him!!”

The crowd looked at one another, a few with lightly raised brows, but after a moment, they still clapped loudly, smiling at Jester’s smile.

She exhaled in relief and beamed at her followers. “That’s the reason why we’re here!! To celebrate being little seeds of chaos!! And pranks are the first step to chaos! So, in one hour, there will be a big pantsing prank!! No one is safe!! But if you don’t want to do that, then we have a big cool light and firework show on the beaaach, and we have refreshmeeeeents… and lots of things! So— go crazy and celebrate!! We are here all week!!”

The crowd cheered excitedly. Jester let out a happy whoop and made her way into the mob of green cloaks, enthusiastically shaking hands, hearing names and immediately forgetting them.

Meanwhile, Fjord smiled to himself softly, watching her affectionately as she walked amongst her people.

Suddenly, Beau appeared next to him with a smirk. “Gonna talk to her?”

Fjord nearly jumped out of his boots. “Fuck! Beau-- You just about gave me a heart attack,” he huffed, rubbing his chest in shock. “I mean, ah… she seems busy. Perhaps later.”

Beau just shrugged at him and slouched beside him, keeping her captain company as they watched her accept a mug of ale and chug it. Her eyes were soft too, just watching the swish of her skirts and the wide grin that colored her face. “Wherever she goes, she takes the sun with ‘er, y’know?” she murmured.

Fjord nodded quietly, a little smile on his face. “Yeah. But… she has her own things going on.”

“Yeah…”

Beau sighed, shifting in place. Finally, she glanced sidelong at him, considering him for a moment… and then she turned, searching for Yasha in the crowd; the aasimar was giving shoulder rides to the children of Vo, jogging lightly around the clearing. Beau sighed sweetly, almost resigned as she turned back to Fjord.

“I used to like her a lot too,” she told him bluntly.

Fjord blinked, then stared at her. “Uh.”

Beau raised her hands innocently. “Hey. I’m not tellin’ you what to do. You do whatever. And I’m not… really the best person to be giving relationship advice,” she drawled, her body language forcibly casual as she crossed her arms. “But… y’know. Whenever she’s ready? I’d say go for it.”

There was an awkward moment of silence… then -- before Fjord could open his mouth to reply -- Beau just coughed, flushed in embarrassment, and punched his shoulder. “Good talk,” she muttered, and walked away, refusing to make eye contact.

Rubbing his aching shoulder, Fjord watched her go.

He hesitated -- hand falling off his shoulder -- and looked over at Jester. 

The pretty blue tiefling was sitting cross-legged with a slumped blonde woman on the ground. “I mean, there’s no other option than to fuck ‘em up then, right?” she was saying.

Fjord chewed on the inside of his cheek… then he started to walk over to her.

Suddenly, Yasha tapped Jester on the shoulder. “Hey, Jester? The pantsing competition has kinda turned ugly,” she whispered, looking a little worried.

“Are there dicks out??” Jester exclaimed. “Oh wow! Okay, um--” She got up, giving the woman in green a quick couple of pats on her shoulder. “It was good talking with you! Love each other! I guess! Talk to you later!” 

With that, she rushed off with Yasha, the rattle of glass beads chiming with every step.

Fjord sighed in frustration and relief, brows furrowed. Maybe it was best he hadn’t gotten the opportunity. Like he had said earlier! She was dealing with a lot… so he picked up a mug of ale and went over to the woman. Thankfully, he recognized her. What was her name? Emma? Emmie?

“Great speech, huh?” Fjord offered, trying his best to be sociable. “Told you she was good.”

The woman looked down at her book. There was a twitch of her fingers. “Please leave me alone,” she murmured, a warmth and charm to her whispered request. “There’s something I have to do.”

...

Fjord blinked.

He was in the forest.

“...What the---”

He looked around. He could still hear the party in the distance. He wasn’t that far from camp. Instinctively, he tried to remember what he had been doing just a moment ago, but he couldn’t even remember  _ walking out to the trees. _

Fjord squinted down into his mug. “The fuck is in this stuff…” he mumbled, wandering back to camp. “How did we even get this much ale all the way out here...? Hey! Caduceus! Are there mushrooms in this?!”

Caduceus chuckled and laid to rest his suspicions about accidentally drinking poison.

...

Veth came into camp yelling for Caleb a few minutes later. “CALEB?! Caleb?”

She tapped his leg. “Hey, Fjord, have you seen Caleb?”

Fjord had just taken an unfortunately large bite of a sweet native fruit. “He’s probably just taking a walk!” he assured her through his juicy mouthful, his cheeks bulging. “He’s an introvert, yes? This is probably a lot of people for him.”

Veth huffed and left to ask a few others if they had seen Caleb. 

Fjord didn’t think anything more of it.

…

Around midnight, Fjord stretched, yawned, and gave Yasha a pat on her shoulder as he passed. “Yell if anything bad happens. I’ll be asleep at Vilya’s.”

Yasha smirked and gave him a little salute.

He went back to Vilya’s house, yawning wider as he crawled up into the big tree. He unbuckled his weapons and armor, settled down into his space on the floor, and tugged the blankets up and over him.

...

“...another day,” a familiar voice murmured. “Sleep now…”

The warm black cotton of sleep stirred over Fjord’s eyes. He mumbled, blinking slowly, raising his head drowsily as he took in his surroundings. “Caduceus?” he mumbled. His stomach told him that it was past midnight. “Mm…”

He wrinkled his nose sleepily, trying to focus. “Everyone in? Accounted for?”

“Caleb is out, but I spoke to him. He’ll be back by morning.”

“Mmm… m’kay.”

Fjord curled back up, snuggling into his blankets as Caduceus eased his long, lanky, furry form down beside the rest of them.

…

The moon burned like a spotlight down on Emmeline’s back.

_ “Hah… hah…” _

The heavy stench of copper filled her nose.

_ “Hah…” _

She took in the sight before her… then swallowed, placed her hands in the warm, spreading pool of blood, and got up. Heat splattered down the hem of her soaked skirt. In the moonlight, Caleb’s blood shone black, her footsteps shining in the fading silver night as she looked off towards the sleeping town of Vo.

Emmeline swallowed a lump of cold bile, exhaustion -- both physical and emotional -- weighing her down. She fell to her knees, bowing her head, tears burning in the back of her eyes. 

“What am I supposed to do now…?” she whispered to the wind. “I’ve spent so long trying to forget… and now…”

Her only answer was the distant roar of Heaven’s Falls.

Emmeline sniffed, hot, throat-scouring tears finally spilling over. She wiped at her eyes, only succeeding in smearing blood across her cheeks. For long minutes, she just knelt, torn between praying and hoping that the solution would come to her… until finally, her gaze hardened.

The woman whirled and marched back to Caleb’s corpse. She yanked open his coat, eyes cold as black ice.

His spellbook was tucked in its holster beneath his arm. All his collected spells and knowledge.

Emmeline grabbed it and yanked it out, stuffing it under her arm. The corpse jostled unceremoniously as she quickly wiped off her bloodstained hands on his coat, then pulled out her own spellbook. Taking a deep, steadying breath — heart pounding instinctively like a rabbit in her chest at the stench of blood — she poised her trembling hand over Caleb’s ruined face… and whispered a gradual, building string of arcane words. Her pupils glimmered like white marbles.

Several objects shimmered with a magical aura. Most notably, his bag.

Emmeline exhaled harshly and grabbed it, her eyes dry of tears. Now, her intelligent gaze was frigid and calculating, instinctively identifying the telltale marks of a bag of holding. “I’ll look through  _ you _ later,” she whispered to it, slinging it over her shoulder. She grabbed the rest of the items with an aura — including an ornate pendant from his pocket that glittered with divination magic — and tossed them into the bag. Finally, she latched her own spellbook back onto her belt — flicking closed the metal catch she had custom-made for it — and opened the practical leather cover of Caleb Widogast’s arcane tome. 

“You’re well traveled… You must have it.  _ Kommen kommen kommen… Doch!” _

Emmeline ran a thumb over the page, scrawled in a cramped yet precise hand. “Yes.  _ Teleportation Circle…”  _ she whispered to herself.

She glanced back at the corpse… then up to the sky.

Minutes later, Emmeline had pulled off her green cloak. She had rolled his body up in it, along with all the stray bits that she could find. She had transmuted it closed with Mending and dragged him away from the site of his murder. A streak led from that horrific, black pool of blood to the treeline, leaving the reflection of the crescent moon marred. With a grunt, she dragged the corpse under a tree. The cape had already soaked completely through on one side; Emmeline coughed at the heavy stench in the air, waved her hand, and chilled his body with six quick castings of Prestidigitation. 

The blood coagulated in a matter of seconds, cold and steaming in the hot jungle air. 

She couldn’t clean up the bigger pool. Not effectively. Keeping the body hidden was more important. If carrion birds spotted a corpse from the air, they would be seen descending from miles around. A  _ beacon  _ for anyone searching for  _ “Caleb.” _

For a moment, Emmeline felt a pang of guilt. This man had been Priestess Jester’s  _ friend _ …

She refused to look at him. There was nothing she could do about it now. Divine providence — somehow — had led her to  _ him.  _ The Traveler’s priestess had told her what the proper views on vengeance were. If having faith in the Traveler and coming  _ all this way  _ to be led to an estranged member of the Cerberus Assembly, this was a sign.

It had to be a sign. This was what she was supposed to do…

Even if it hurt the Traveler’s priestess. 

Perhaps this  _ had  _ been her purpose here. To get rid of this snake hiding amongst her flock—  _ gods,  _ it sounded so  _ stupid.  _ But if those  _ years _ of fighting the Assembly under her own power had yielded  _ no results,  _ and the  _ moment _ she gave up her power she  _ found  _ one of the people who had tortured her… divine power was what she would put her faith in. Maybe she was no cleric. Maybe she was no priestess. She had  _ learned _ and  _ earned _ her arcane talent, but sometimes a job required more than one kind of tool.

She could be that tool, if it meant taking the Assembly down. 

Emmeline hardened her heart, taking a shaky breath, and opened Caleb’s spellbook again to the Teleportation Circle spell, taking count of the pages.  _ “Dies ist ein Zauber der fünften Stufe. Bilanzierung von Fehlern, diese…” _

Fifth level spell. She would need  _ two hundred and fifty gold  _ worth of pages and ink to learn this spell. For every level of intricacy, she would need two hours for trial and error and study and rewriting…. She groaned and raked her bloodied hands through her pale blonde hair, black eyes furious.

“Ten hours to learn this  _ fucking _ spell…  _ Scheiße!”  _

She swore violently and pulled out her reserves for recording spells, rifling through the thick, luxurious sheets of paper. She counted her backup wells of special ink… then she swore again. She had less than  **_half_ ** of what she needed! And she couldn’t get off this island via the return ship that the Traveler promised her. “ _ Priestess Jester”  _ — for all that she was the Traveler’s first follower — was as  _ green _ as her cloak. She was young. She wouldn’t understand why Emmeline had done what she did. She would be furious. Her friends would attack, and they would attack to  _ kill. _

As powerful of a caster as she was, Emmeline was not foolhardy enough to think she could stand up to a full party of marauding adventurers  _ alone. _

“I’m not dying on this rock…” the Zemnian woman hissed spitefully to herself in Common, opening Caleb’s bag of holding and thrusting her hand inside. She thought of paper and ink… closed her eyes,  _ praying…  _ and pulled her hand out.

She was holding a handful of paper and three more bottles of ink.

Emmeline gasped, her heart soaring, and quickly ran the calculations on her fingers, staring up at the canopy. Two hundred fifty worth of paper and ink… Ten hours of writing and studying...

With Caleb’s backups, it would be  _ more  _ than enough.

Emmeline’s filthy, bloody, scarred-up, bug-bitten face lit up with a smile. “Ha! Ah!”

She groaned, adrenaline pulsing through her system as she brushed off a section of the earth and tore off a clean swath of her skirt. She laid it down, swiftly organizing the inks, pens, and papers on top of it. “I haven’t done a  _ double _ all nighter since the Academy…!” she laughed to herself, already delirious from exhaustion. “Ahhh, oh  _ gods,  _ what have I gotten myself into…?”

The female wizard cast Dancing Lights — five globules of warm orange radiance that flickered over the misshapen form of Caleb’s corpse — and began to write.

…

Nearly ten hours later, Jester stirred.

She squeaked, grinning sleepily and stretching like a contented cat in a warm ray of sunshine. “Mmmmm… mm!!” 

She mumbled happily, then wrinkled her nose and frowned as her stomach gurgled. The little blue tiefling sat up and peeled open her eyes, squinting into the dappled noonday sun that was streaming in through the windows. “Mmm…”

Jester sighed, mumbled something unintelligible, and peered around, only to see that she was the only one left in the treehouse. 

“Mm!”

She stumbled to her feet. Still half-asleep, Jester rubbed her aching head -- the painful beginnings of a hangover -- and walked outside into blinding sunshine. “Owwwwww…” she grumbled, covering her face. 

The rest of the Nein were gathered around a bonfire, seemingly conversing, and immediately stopped when she emerged. 

Jester pouted at the lot of them and wandered over. “Mm… my head hurts…” she mumbled. “Do we have any breakfast?”

Caduceus handed her a mug of tea. “Here you go.”

“We saved you some!” Veth squeaked suspiciously loudly, piling some food into a big leaf and handing it to her a little too fast. 

Jester accepted it, eyeing the makeshift plate for some scrambled eggs, a hunk of dry bread, and some strips of cooked meat… then she squinted at Veth. “What were you guys talking abouuuuut? You weren’t talking about  _ me _ , were you?”

Fjord shook his head, looking a little shell shocked. “Uh… no, actually.”

“Then what were you  _ talking  _ about?! Spill the beeeeeeans. Just-- not too loud,” she demanded drowsily, biting into a hunk of dinosaur jerky. She took a sip of tea and sat down between Fjord and Yasha. “My head hurts…”

Yasha raised her brows at Fjord. 

Fjord shook his head, bewildered, and waved a hand at Veth. 

Veth threw her hands in the air, speechless.

Beau opened her mouth awkwardly. “Uh…” The monk glanced at Caduceus like she might get in trouble. “Apparently... Caleb fucks?”

Jester inhaled her strip of bacon, choked, and started violently coughing.

Fjord sputtered and whacked her on the back. “W-Woah woah woah! Don’t-- you good?! You okay?!”

“He  _ what?!”  _ Jester croaked.

“THAT’S WHAT  _ I _ SAID!” Veth shrieked in disbelief. “Caleb doesn’t  _ fuck! He’s a good boy!!” _

Beau wrinkled her nose. “Well…”

Fjord shook his head again, like he had a fly buzzing next to his ear. “I can’t even picture it.”

Jester considered it, staring up into the sky, more confused and alarmed than she had ever been. Her eyebrows shot up. “I mean…  _ I _ can picture it.”

“Oh gross!!”

“Ew.”

“Nasty! Jester, that’s disgusting!”

“I think it’s perfectly natural,” Caduceus replied calmly, stirring his tea. “It’s perfectly natural to want to relieve some tension every once in a while with an attractive person.”

Beau looked even more disturbed. “I mean… that’s  _ true…  _ but  _ Caleb?  _ He just doesn’t seem like the kinda guy who likes to… relieve tension. I mean, he really likes tension. Like, an  _ unhealthy  _ amount of tension.”

Jester frowned unhappily. “Well, who  _ was  _ it?”

“Beats me.”

“Didn’t see him leave.”

Veth scowled, stewing. “I mean, it  _ must  _ have been one of those little sluts from the beach! Running around in those… full length, dripping wet cloaks! Green is a sexy color, you know!”

“I don’t think it was the cloaks,” Beau deadpanned.

“Caleb always kinda…” Yasha hesitated when eyes turned her way, but she looked earnestly at all of them. “I dunno. Caleb always seemed like an eyes man, you know?”

Beau frowned. “But he, like… never makes eye contact. Ever.”

“That’s not true!” Jester piped up. 

All eyes turned on her. 

She pouted and nibbled on her dinosaur bacon. “He’s got  _ nice  _ eyes…”

_ “Anyway!”  _ Beau interjected, throwing her hands up firmly to stop any more debate. “Enough about Caleb’s fuckin’  _ desert  _ of a dry spell. We gotta figure out what we’re doing for day two of Travelercon. Yesterday was the big welcome. What now?”

Everyone looked at her curiously.

Jester looked back at them like a startled doe. She hesitated… then continued to chew, chewed, and swallowed. “Um. M-Maybe…”

She had no idea.

“Maybe--”

Jester attempted a smile, shrugging innocently and continuing to eat her breakfast. “Why don’t we wait for Caleb? I mean, there’s no rush, right?” she grinned, waggling her eyebrows mischievously to cover up her sudden anxiety. “Everybody’s still pretty  _ fucked up  _ from last night! Once everyone’s cool, then uh, we’ll… pass around a hat! And take suggestions!! Or I can ask the Traveler what I can do next!”

Yasha turned around to look at the scattered, groaning, or still sleeping Traveler cultists. “I mean, I guess they’re all still pretty out of commission. Did you say you gave them mushrooms, Caduceus?”

The firbolg shrugged. “Yeah, some of them.”

Fjord sputtered indignantly. “What?! You said that there weren’t any mushrooms in the drinks!!”

“I said there weren’t any mushrooms in  _ your  _ drink.”

Jester finished her bacon. “H-Hey, hey. Deusie.”

Caduceus glanced at her pleasantly. “Hm?”

“When, uh… when did Caleb say he would be back?” Jester asked, her voice a little too casual and little too high pitched to be earnest. She stuffed the bread into her mouth. “I mean, he shouldn’t be out there for  _ too  _ long! He could get his dick bit off by, like, one of those big lizards or something.”

Caduceus chuckled and reached into his pouch, unrolling his Sending wire. “Would you like me to check in on him?”

“Yes, pleeeeease.”

Jester chewed with difficulty on the dry bread, taking a big sip of tea to help get it down. The rest of the party sighed and rested back in their seats. Veth watched Caduceus suspiciously, then continued to snarf down as much bacon as she could. Beau subtly angled herself on her perch and flexed her core, so that their lady barbarian could admire the definition in her abs. Yasha just twiddled her fingers and looked around. Caduceus started to form the spell, raising the wire to his lips...

Then, Caduceus lowered the wire. He frowned down at it.

Veth -- who was watching him like a hawk -- noticed immediately. “What?! What is it?” she demanded.

Caduceus scowled. He raised the wire to his lips again, started to cast the spell again… and stopped again. He squinted down at his wire, scratching at it. Beau slowly straightened up, a line forming between her brows. “Uh… Caduceus? You okay?”

“Yes, I’m…” Caduceus trailed off for a moment, laying the piece of copper wire in his lap. “Yes, I’m fine. Goodness, I didn’t think I was all that tired. Maybe I’m just… Um, Jester?”

Jester swallowed her big bite of tea-soaked bread. “Yeah?”

“Can I borrow your Sending wire? I think mine is faulty.”

She took another big bite of bread, cocking her head at him. “Huh? Faulty? What do you mean?”

Caduceus frowned down at his thread of copper wire. “I mean, it’s not-- For some reason, I can’t focus in on Caleb. I don’t know if it’s my components or  _ me,  _ but… this doesn’t usually happen,” he admitted, looking genuinely troubled. “Maybe you would have better luck?”

Jester dusted off her hands, a little fussy at the concept of messaging Caleb after a one-night-stand with a  _ stranger _ . “I mean,  _ sure _ , I’ll  _ tryyyy…” _

Beau put down her other leg, sitting up straight. Fjord was starting to look worried. Yasha looked more confused than anything as their other cleric unrolled her tiny spool of fine copper wire. Jester frowned, mumbling to herself as she prayed a little prayer to the Traveler to speak to Caleb…

And absolutely nothing happened. It was as if— while selecting the target of her spell, the entire evocation unraveled like bad knitting.

Jester was left sitting there. Dumbfounded.

She squinted down at her wire. “...Huh. That is… _really_ _weird.”_

Veth opened her mouth, then closed it, gaping like a fish. “Wait, so…  _ you  _ tried to Send a message to him,” she started, pointing at Caduceus, then at Jester, “then  _ you  _ tried to Send a message to him, and  _ neither  _ of them worked?? That’s a— Is that something his anti-scrying necklace can do?! Is there a ‘please do not leave a message at the tone’ mode on it or something?!”

Jester frowned deeply, staring down at her wire. “I… I don’t know….”

Fjord sat up suddenly, looking between all of them. “Is there some kind of spell that could  _ block  _ Sending?”

Caduceus shook his head. “Not that I know of… but I don’t know a lot about arcana. More of a nature guy myself, you know?”

Jester’s stomach twisted. She had a bad feeling about this… but she forged ahead with a smile. “O-Okay! So, let’s assume that our Sending spells are being blocked! It’s gotta be, y’know,  _ super  _ advanced magic. Or he went to a craaaaaazy place to bone. For some reason.”

“You think he went back to Vokodo’s lair to fuck, or something?” Beau deadpanned, wrinkling her nose. “Ew… there’s still shit in the water down there, but… I mean, sure, if you’re into that stuff?”

“No, no. He can’t breathe underwater by himself,” Caduceus pointed out.

“Have we tried scrying on him?” Yasha asked quietly. She was looking worried now too, leaning forward and looking at Jester.

Veth, however, shook her head. “No, no! I gave him back his anti-scrying necklace!”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t  _ wearing  _ it. Couldn’t we try?” Yasha proposed softly. She rubbed the back of her head, almost sheepish. “I’m sorry, I don’t know  _ anything  _ about magic, but… if it  _ is _ a spell blocking your Sending spells… maybe a higher level thing will be harder to block?”

“Do we know anybody that knows a lot about magic?!”

“What about that— that arcanist we met one time!!” Veth piped up. “Almorra Viceroy!!”

“OH!” Jester exclaimed with a gasp. She turned to the others, throwing her hands wide, then she grabbed her wire. “Essek! Essek! We can call Essek!! Essek will know!”

“Didn’t Essek like…  _ just  _ get out of talks with the Empire though?! What if he doesn’t— Jester! Hold on. What is he doesn’t answer?” Fjord pointed out rapidly, and suddenly she was casting Sending. “Aaaaand you’re Sending…”

…

**-Meanwhile, in Xhorhas…-**

_ ESSEK! Hi, how are you, I hope the talks went super duper great, but we need a really important favor! Our messages aren’t working, is— _

The message cut off.

Essek Shadowhand looked up at the ceiling of his office. Even as regrettably acquainted with Jester Lavorre’s social skills as he was, that had been a confusing message. He knew that he could reply in a like manner though, so he warily put down his quill and responded.  _ “ _ Your messages are working fine. The talks were successful in their purpose. What is the favor?”

He waited. For almost a full minute.

Essek couldn’t help but smile halfheartedly, envisioning the massive argument they all were having, wherever they were in the world.

…

**-Back on Rumblecusp…-**

“SHORT PHRASES!! SHORT PHRASES!!” Veth screeched.

“I KNOW, I KNOW! I’M JUST FREAKING OUT, OKAY?!” Jester cried out, waving her arms around. “Cayleb is  _ missing _ and we don’t know where he is or what kind of crazy spell is keeping him from us!! We have to  _ find _ him!”

“FREAKING OUT IS NOT GOING TO HELP US FIND HIM!”

“YOU’RE FREAKING OUT  _ TOO!” _

“Oh my god…” Beau swore shakily. This wasn’t a  _ joke.  _ She took a deep breath, biting the inside of her cheek, then leaned over to Caduceus. She whispered just loud enough to be heard over their yelling. “Caduceus. Can you give it a shot? Try to tell Essek what’s going on?”

Caduceus nodded and unrolled his wire one last time. Beau noticed his big hands were trembling with uncertainty. 

She hesitated, then patted his arm. “You got this, buddy…”

The big firbolg smiled gratefully down at her. “Thanks…”

His fingers didn’t stop shaking as he raised his wire to his mouth and closed his eyes, focusing on channeling his thoughts to Essek Shadowhand, the dark elf that he had first met so many months ago. He told a slow breath to brace himself, oddly shaken… and released the spell.

“Caleb missing. Last heard from ten hours ago. Last seen seventeen hours ago. Sending won’t focus. Afraid scrying won’t work. Need help or advice. Please.”

He lowered his wire, staring at it anxiously as he waited for an answer.

“Hey… Caduceus.”

He glanced up at his party. They were all looking at him with worried looks. “Are you okay?” Jester whispered. “Your hands are shaking.”

Caduceus looked down at his fingers. Indeed, there was a slight tremor to them. 

“...Huh. So they are.”

Suddenly, Essek’s message came back. Caduceus’s long ears pricked up instinctively even if there was no physical sound to hear… then, a look of subconscious relief washed over his face. 

“He’s coming.”

The Might Nein all let out a collective sigh of relief. “He has to tell the Bright Queen, but he should be able to get here in a few minutes,” Caduceus told them, fingers tightening, worrying around his beetle staff.

“This is crazy…” Fjord murmured, staring down at the ground. “I— I didn’t think anything was wrong yesterday. Like, at  _ all.  _ I had a weird moment where I lost time, but—“

“You  _ lost time?”  _ Beau and Veth echoed, staring at him.

“Were you drunk?” Jester asked, eating nervously.

Fjord made a face. “No! No, I wasn’t drunk. I was just talking to one of the attendees, and she told me to fuck off — I mean, she was polite about it — and suddenly I was standing in the woods.”

“That’s creepy! Do you think she was a ghost?”

“Did you get possessed?! Like, she walked you into the trees and you didn’t know?”

“N-No…” Yasha piped up, her black and snowy hair falling over her shoulders as she looked at the ground, self-conscious. “That’s not how ghost possession feels like… It’s hazy, and it feels like you’re sitting in the backseat of the wagon, but you don’t  _ lose time.  _ Not like how he’s describing.”

“Okay, so she wasn’t a ghost. What did she look like?” 

Fjord sputtered, trying to recall. What he wouldn’t give for Caleb’s perfect memory right  _ now.  _ “Uh… green cloak. Blonde hair? Kinda beat up? Looked kinda tired. She was— oh!!”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at Beau. “Wait! She was the last one we brought in before Jester’s intro speech! What was her name? Emm— Emmy?”

“I don’t  _ fuckin’ remember  _ what her  _ name  _ was!” Beau shot back.

Then, suddenly, her face dropped. “Oh…  _ fuck…”  _ she whispered, her hands suddenly flying up. “Fuck fuck fuck  _ fuck!”  _

“What??”

“What is it?!”

“She was a  _ spellcaster,” _ Beau hissed furiously, staring at them all. “She had a  _ fuckin wand  _ and a  _ fuckin’ spellbook!” _

“Oh,  _ fuck…”  _ Fjord whispered, eyes wide. “Guys.”

He looked at the others. “She had an Empire accent.”

“A-And you didn’t think to tell us this SOONER?!” Veth shouted, eyes wide as tea saucers. “Caleb has enemies in the Empire!! The  _ Cerberus Assembly _ is in the Empire! What if this woman is from the Cerberus Assembly and she’s  _ murdered Caleb?!” _

Jester went deathly quiet.

Everyone looked at each other, their stomachs sinking like rocks.

“Last night… a  _ girl… _ asked me what the Traveler’s policy on hardcore vengeance was,” she mumbled, her stomach twisting sickeningly. Tears welled in her eyes. “I-I…”

“...What did you tell her?” Beau whispered.

Jester’s eyes spilled over. She began to ramble, talking with her hands in an attempt to defend herself. “I-I— You don’t understand!! She was like, ‘whoever these people are, they did something really really terrible to me!’ And I asked her if they were super bad people, because— you know!! S-Sometimes good people do bad things! I know Cayleb was trained to do bad things, but h-he’s not a bad person! But she said they were bad people!! A-And it was such a  _ crazy  _ question to come out of nowhere that I just told her what  _ I  _ would do! I mean, if bad people do bad shit to you, fuck ‘em up, right?! I didn’t realize she meant Cayleb!! I-I—!!”

“Shhh… hey, hey…” Fjord whispered, pulling her in for a hug. Jester let out a tremulous sob, clinging to his armor. “We don’t know anything yet. We  _ don’t.  _ Let’s wait for Essek, okay? Essek knows what he’s talking about. He’ll know  _ something.” _

“O-Okay…”

Just then, there was a crackle of misplaced air. With a distant sound — like an object hurtling towards them at incredible speeds — there was a sudden  _ pop _ as Essek broke through the fabric of space. He flinched instinctively at the bright sunlight, a hand coming up to try and shade his eyes. “Ahh…”

“ESSEK!” Jester sobbed.

“Essek!!” Veth exclaimed.

The Mighty Nein rushed over to him. 

The dark elf startled as Jester and Veth threw their arms around him. “A-Ah— what? What’s…”

Essek trailed off, pale eyes immediately noticing the looks on his friends’ faces. “...What’s wrong? Where is Caleb? I mean… Do you have any  _ ideas  _ of where he might be.”

“We don’t know,” Fjord murmured, deathly serious. “But now we’re starting to fear the worst.”

Essek’s deep purple skin went a little pale. He took a deep breath, then walked with them up to Vilya’s house. “Tell me all the details of the evening. Even the smallest detail may be crucial to figuring out what is going on here. What you ate, who you spoke with, what you saw.  _ Everything.” _

…

A mosquito the width of a silver piece landed on Emmeline’s neck. It sunk its long proboscis into a vein, sucking a long draught of blood from her… and it buzzed away, unswatted.

Ten hours deep in her transcription of Teleportation Circle, Emmeline rolled Caleb’s transmutation stone between her fingers, allowing its magic to assist her concentration and push her forward. It was a beautiful thing -- irregular facets gleaming like a polished gem in the dappled sunlight, a pure, burning orange with flickers of yellow deep in its heart -- and even more beautiful in his practical use. Thankfully, its magic was still set to what it had been in Vokodo’s cave. All she knew was that holding it like this made it easier to ignore the tapestry of bug bites over her skin, the swarming flies, and the heavy stench of blood and feces that wafted over from Caleb’s corpse. A carpet of glistening, hungry bugs crawled over the blood-soaked cloak, swarming on his exposed, bleeding feet and calves. The  _ buzzing  _ was  _ hellish _ .

Emmeline sat up and immediately swayed, dizziness and nausea overwhelming her for a moment. “Mmm…”

She took a deep, shaky breath and stood up on legs riddled with pins and needles, taking her pages with her. She paced in slow, limping circles as she whispered the arcane words to herself, trying to focus through bloodshot eyes. 

The runes smeared. She swore softly and rubbed her aching eyes. She would normally be done by now, but the heat and discomfort had disrupted her flow. She had made far more mistakes than she normally did. It made a difference-- studying in a hot, stinking patch of dirt instead of a cool, quiet office.

The transmuter’s stone glowed a little more brightly, and Emmeline’s vision cleared up. The enchantress exhaled, tension drawing a hard line between her brows. “Almost there…” she whispered to herself. “One more hour… maybe a little longer...”

Her stomach snarled with hunger. 

Her head swam with dehydration. 

_ Almost there… _


	3. Nine Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a race against time to find the site of their wizard's murder, but they may be too late to serve justice. At least on this day.

Nearly an hour had passed since Essek had arrived. It had taken nearly all that time to go down the line and collect all the details -- both fact and suspicion -- that the Mighty Nein had to give. But between them all, they only had one suspect; the woman who had come into contact with Beau, Fjord, and Jester over the course of the night. 

Essek’s grave expression turned to Fjord. “And you’re sure that she had a book open when she spoke to you? Right before you lost that time?”

“I-- Yes. I’m, like… ninety percent sure.”

The Shadowhand’s brows furrowed, looking deeply troubled as he sorted out all the information he had been given. He took a deep breath, rubbed his mouth, and collected his thoughts. “As I’m sure you know.... wizards have many different schools of magic,” Essek tried to explain, visibly trying to use small words. “When they begin their lives of study, they often choose one to specialize in, usually the one each individual has the greatest affinity for. When wizards advance in their specialization studies, they learn how to further reach into the  _ core  _ of what  _ forms  _ their arcane specialization. There are many theses written about the process, it is truly fascinating. But-- Caleb is a transmuter. I am a graviturganist. This woman…”

He licked his lips. “She sounds like an enchantress. A powerful one.”

Yasha pulled out the Magician’s Judge and began to threateningly sharpen the magical greatsword. Fjord stared at the huge blade with wide eyes.

Jester swallowed, squirming and trying her best not to interrupt. “But-- what do enchantment spells do?”

Essek’s brows raised at the greatsword, but he pushed ahead in his explanation. “Enchanters specialize in magic that alters the very  _ perception  _ of the creatures they target,” he explained, starting to talk with his long, tapered hands as he continued. “It’s nothing so clumsy as illusions. It is shown to affect the parts of the mind that are directly connected with  _ memory  _ and  _ relationships.  _ Experienced enchanters can alter your recollection of events when they cast an enchantment on you. They can  _ force  _ you to forget time that you’ve spent charmed.”

Fjord looked a little sick. “They can  _ force  _ you to forget? Wait, how  _ much  _ time can they force you to forget?!”

“From what I’ve heard… anywhere from one to six hours.”

“An enchanter can force you to lose fuckin’ _ hours?”  _ Beau repeated, staring at him in disbelief.    
“Hours that you didn’t even spend in your right frame of mind?! It’s not bad enough that you’re not in your right frame of mind? They can just decide, ‘Hey, fuck you! I’m gonna make you kill a bunch of people and take a shower and then fuck off and you won’t remember a goddamn thing?!’”

“Caleb sounded so relaxed...” Caduceus murmured, brows furrowed. “He just said that his body hurt, and that he was on a walk with a woman…”

He looked up at the rest of them. “What if he was walking that whole time with her? Just… for hours and _ hours?” _

“Shit! You’re right! He could think he’s a lot  _ closer  _ to Vo than he is!! Because that  _ bitch  _ made him forget he walked all that way--  _ fuck…”  _ Beau whispered, running her fingers through her long brown hair. “Enchanters are Caleb’s worst goddamn nightmare, aren’t they?”

Veth shared a pained look with Beau. 

The monk grimaced back. Everyone knew Caleb had serious baggage with having his memory messed up, but only Veth and Beau knew the  _ true  _ extent of it. Being magically forced into compliance for that long was anyone’s nightmare. For Caleb, though… it was just  _ that  _ much worse.

Meanwhile, Yasha looked down at Essek -- rage glimmering in her eyes. “Where is this woman?” she murmured, deadly soft.

Jester straightened. “I-I can scry her…” she offered, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m the only one that’s met her face to face, so… I won’t have any disadvantage on finding her…”

“Do it.”

Jester hesitated… but she nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. “Okay…”

She reached into her pink haversack, trying to keep her hands steady as she placed her scrying crystal in her lap. Her lungs threatened to shudder, but she managed to let out a steady breath… and she took ten minutes to weave together a scrying spell.

When her eyes opened, they glowed a soft pink. Tiny, illusory butterflies fluttered and disappeared around her rapidly fluttering lashes.

…

Suddenly, a revelation lit up behind Emmeline’s bloodshot eyes.

“Wait-- is that it?” she whispered. She checked her dozens of pages of revised notes, her exhausted brain scrambling for any mistake she might have made, paper rustling… then she dropped them with the excited yelp that accompanied an arcane breakthrough. “Yes! Yes!  _ Fuck!  _ Finally--!”

Emmeline opened her spellbook and transcribed the last few glyphs in the proper succession.

In front of her, an invisible orb popped into existence. Caleb’s unattuned Amulet of Proof Against Detection and Location did absolutely _ no good _ in her pocket.

…

Jester’s breath snagged in her chest. “Oh…” she whispered.

Her throat closed up. “Oh  _ no…” _

She couldn’t hear her friends calling, demanding to know what she saw. 

As her vision — soft and blurred on the edges — followed the wizard’s skirts, it took her a long, terrible moment to realize that uneven, gorey red wasn’t the natural color of her gown. 

Those weren’t  _ gloves  _ she was wearing…

That was  _ Caleb’s bag  _ she was carrying…!

Then, suddenly, as the wizard scrambled up onto a shining field of black, volcanic glass… Jester heard the  _ flies _ . 

Swarming. Buzzing in  _ droves _ , like she was used to hearing when they passed a country slaughterhouse back on the mainland… drawn by cartfuls of blood and shit and sweat. Jester remembered in vivid detail how the stench had coated the inside of her mouth and tongue, leaving nearly the whole party retching until they passed it. It was a strange thing to recall… but she remembered Caleb having a particularly hard time with the smell. He’d had to put a damp cloth over his head, and lie down in the wagon until he felt better…

Jester saw his feet.

Her body jerked violently at the sight of pockmarked, bloody flesh, already blooming with bruises in the heat...

A quiet clicking sound caught her attention. Like chalk.

Jester’s concentration broke. Her streaming eyes flickered across the room, her chest heaving. “Oh no no NO! No, no— He’s— h-he’s so hurt! H-His feet, they—“

“Did you see Caleb?” Beau exclaimed.

“I-Is he alive?” Veth whispered.

_ No. _

“M—M… Maybe h-he… h-he was j-just tired!” Jester warbled. Her brain spun desperately. “I-I saw his feet! He was j-just all wrapped up! Like a blanket! M-Maybe he’s s-sleeping b-because he walked all that way last night!”

“Jester,” Essek murmured.

The Shadowhand touched her shoulder, his expression dark and severe. “ _ Is he alive.” _

_ No. _

Jester opened her mouth… and her face crumpled. “I-I don’t  _ know.  _ B-But— we need to go to him! We need to go to him right now!!” she ordered, gasping for air and whirling on Essek. “W-We need to get to him! H-He needs a cleric! Right now!!”

“I— I need to know  _ where!”  _ Essek told her. “Where was he? Were there any landmarks you saw? Any big trees, large rocks,  _ cliffs?” _

“I don’t know, I don’t  _ remember!!  _ There were a bunch of trees and b-bugs,  _ flies…!” _

“Any unique looking flowers? What did the  _ bugs _ look like?”

“Fucking  _ bugs!”  _ Jester yelled.

Essek leaned forward. He snapped his fingers softly, waved his hand gently in front her face, and whispered a word that none of them understood; over the course of six seconds, what felt like an eternity, the tension in all of their shoulders slowly eased. Beau’s jaw was still clenched. So was Yasha’s, but everyone else felt a magical sense of peace washed over them. Jester took a deep breath, lashing fluttering. “I… I’m sorry…”

“Calm down,” Essek murmured sternly, softly. “Think.”

Jester sniffed, wiping at her cheeks. “Um...”

…

Expensive chalk clicked quickly and carefully against smooth obsidian. Emmeline double-checked her notes, bent down over her teleportation circle.

She glanced up at the sky. A single bird was circling overhead.

That could be a familiar. That could be one of  _ them,  _ for all she knew.

“Shit…” Emmeline breathed. 

Her heart lodged in her throat as she smacked her spellbook closed and — with one final flourish of her borrowed, gem-infused chalks — closed the circle. She quickly doubled back, grabbed Caleb’s stolen bag, tossed the strap over her shoulder, and double checked that she wasn’t leaving anything. No locks of hair, no quills, no ink pots… 

…

“There was a… writing noise,” Jester told her friends, her eyes closed as she focused. “Like… squeaky? Like chalk. On rock. Or glass? I know that doesn’t make sense, b-but… that’s what I heard.”

The skin around Essek’s eyes tightened. “If she’s writing…”

...

Just to be safe, Emmeline yanked the torn swath of her bloodstained skirt out from under the discarded notes. She stuffed it into Caleb’s bag of holding and rushed back to the teleportation circle. 

...

Essek thought hard for a moment. “It’s a ritual.”

He looked between each of them. “Are there any smooth rock surfaces on the island?  _ Perfectly  _ smooth. No cracks or stray stones.”

“I mean… how close would it have to be?” Caduceus asked.

“ _ Very  _ close. Within a matter of feet.”

…

Emmeline tapped the edge of her circle of glittering chalk. The runes began to glow...

...

The firbolg’s lips parted, his brows furrowed… then his eyes widened slightly. “The volcano erupted only a few days ago,” he exclaimed softly. “The lava would have set in the smaller pools. Jester, scry again. I need you to tell me which direction the shadows are slanting.”

Jester sucked in a breath and started casting again. “Okay!”

…

The teleportation circle glowed brighter… and _ brighter _ …

Emmeline sighed, her eyes closing, her shoulders slumping in immeasurable relief. She started to take a step towards the forming portal. 

Then she hesitated. Her empty stomach twisted, mixed emotions still curling in her gut. She looked back at Caleb’s body, her dark eyes glittering with some odd kind of regret. She opened her mouth, as if to say some last words… 

Then her brows furrowed spitefully. 

She spat in his direction and stepped into the circle -- and with that, the enchantress vanished from the island of Rumblecusp.

…

Jester continued to cast her scrying spell. Nine minutes were left until she could see.

…

Meanwhile, it was a peaceful, late summer afternoon in the country outside Rexxentrum. The first green leaves drifted to the ground like tiny emeralds in the dirt road; dancing precursors to the coming autumn. Grassy hills rolled in the breeze, only broken for miles around by small farms and large country mansions owned by the nobles of the nearby capital. The house of Baron Aldric Schulze was unique among them, constructed of severe black brick and pristine white woodwork, with extensive grounds grazed by sheep and horses. Servants crossed back and forth in the fields. Young, pretty maids and footmen worked in the kitchen, conversed in the stairwell, dusted the mantle, and kept the vases filled with fresh flowers. There was always fresh bread and sugar on the table. It was a rich man’s house.

“Are you sure it’s alright for me to be up here, milord…? In broad daylight? Your wife—“

Aldric Schulze -- a regal-looking man in his early fifties-- chuckled and pressed a kiss into the maid’s bare throat, combing his dark, greying hair away from his face.  _ “My wife _ will be gone for another month at  _ least,”  _ he assured her, his Zemnian fluent and flawless. “Her and her  _ soul searching…” _

The duke rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the maid’s soft, young, pale skin, trailing kisses down into the valley of her breasts. “Trust me, Ana. You have  _ nothing  _ to worry about.”

Ana, a young woman no older than nineteen, shifted uncomfortably and rolled onto her stomach. “I should… go back to my chores, milord…” she murmured, reaching for her shift.

Aldric looked like he was about to protest as she got out of his bed… but he finally sighed and let her go. 

He longingly watched her nude body disappear, vanishing back underneath her work uniform. “When can we do this again?”

Ana hesitated… then she looked back at him hopefully, a shy smile on her lips. “Maybe tonight?”

“Then  _ tonight  _ it is. Would you bring me a glass of wine, dear? I’m  _ parched.” _

Ana’s smile shone a little brighter. She gave him a playful curtsy. “Certainly, milord.”

She quickly collected the baron’s dirty laundry, checked that her work badge was still in place, and ducked out of the master bedroom.

The maid made her way downstairs, humming softly to herself. Of all the places in Baron Aldric’s mansion, this was her favorite. Fine wooden halls smelling of oak, and the late summer air that wafted in through open windows. They were her safe place. No one ever questioned a maid walking down a hall. She peacefully dropped off the baron’s laundry, walked past a small gaggle of scullery maids, into the kitchen, and -- after collecting the key from the head cook -- rattled downstairs to the wine cellar.

She continued to hum the quiet lullaby as she searched for the rack of their baron’s favorite vintage. “Hmm hmm… ah,  _ there  _ you are…” she whispered.

Ana reached out for the wine bottle.

Suddenly, there was an  _ explosion  _ of light and dust.

The maid shrieked at the top of her lungs, instinctively curling into a ball as a wave of hot, moist,  _ stinking  _ air bowled her over. She stumbled sideways into a -- thankfully -- mostly empty rack of wine; two bottles hit the ground with a deafening crack. One shattered and one rolled away… and finally the dust settled.

Utterly filthy and bugbitten from head to toe, Emmeline coughed, wiped at her watering eyes, and blinked hard.

Ana stared with eyes round as tea saucers. “...Baroness?”

Emmeline glanced sidelong at her maid, then did an exhausted double take. She looked down at the long-forgotten teleportation sigil -- hidden underneath an area rug, which was now crumpled  _ somewhere  _ in the corner of the cellar -- and finally just sighed. She didn’t have the energy to do anything else.

“Ana, would you  _ please  _ go draw me a bath…?” she whispered.

“R-Right away, Baroness. Would you l-like me to… take your dress as well…?”

The enchantress turned, exposing her back to her maid.  _ “Please _ do...”

Ana quickly moved to start unlacing her mistress’s ruined garment. She couldn’t help but gag once or twice at the smell, but she refused to show any weakness. She didn’t ask any questions. Finally, her trembling fingers loosened Emmeline’s dress and pulled it off, along with her shift. It left the baroness naked in the cool cellar. “I’ll get you a robe, milady. The bath will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Ana started to rush up the stairs, but suddenly, a hand snagged her wrist and dragged her back. The maid’s heart leapt into her throat. She kept her head bowed, shrinking down as she felt the baroness’s cold eyes on her… analyzing her…

Then, Emmeline reached into her bag and placed her mace -- still coated with dried blood and brains -- into Ana’s hand.

Ana stared at it in horror. “Sh… Shall I wash this, too…? Milady?”

“Yes, dear,” Emmeline sighed tiredly. She let her go. “You shall. When it’s spotless, you’ll put it back in its place above the mantle.”

The maid nodded. “W-Will that be all, milady?”

“That will be all, Ana. Do hurry with that bath, please. I feel like I’m about to crawl out of my skin...”

Ana nodded and practically fled up the stairs. She had no idea if her mistress could  _ really  _ crawl out of her skin, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around to find out. 

Meanwhile, Emmeline took a deep, exhausted breath. She waited for a while-- but finally, she grabbed a bottle of wine. She gazed down at the orange glimmer of Caleb’s transmutation stone between her fingers… and pried out the cork with her teeth. 

_ Pop. _

The enchantress spat out the cork. She raised the bottle, gazing down at the floor. He surely wouldn’t be listening from anyplace _ skyward. _ “Here’s to you, Caleb. And all the rest to follow...” she murmured to the dirt, and commenced to drink the entire bottle.

…

Jester stared. Motionless. Numbness spread through her. 

“There’s… there’s no shadows,” she whispered. “She’s not in the forest anymore. She’s… She’s just standing. Naked. In a cellar. She’s drinking wine...”

The blue tiefling blinked slowly, eyes flickering numbly from side to side -- as if she could find the answer in the stunned and furious faces of her companions. “She’s gone,” Jester murmured. She swallowed, staring forward. “We missed her…”

There was no sound. Not for what felt like a long time.

Fjord and Beau exchanged a silent, ferocious look.

Caduceus swallowed, looking confused and  _ angry. _

Veth’s throat constricted.

Yasha -- who had paused in her sharpening of the Magician’s Judge -- grit her teeth and bore down  _ hard. _ The screech of the whetstone was loud enough to break the tension, sending a shower of sparks to the floor.

“We need to go,” Beau growled.

“Yeah.”

“We gotta find him.”

“We’re  _ gonna  _ find him.”

“Take us to close to the base of the volcano,” Fjord murmured quietly, his yellow, slit-pupiled eyes absolutely  _ murderous.  _ “Take your best guess. We’ll take it from there.”

Essek hesitated… but he nodded silently and began to trace the runes in the floor.

His shoulders felt heavier than they usually did as he opened a glowing, shimmering circle in the heart of the tree, and the Mighty Nein filed through. Essek followed, though, a dark look on his face as he did; the Dynasty would survive without him for a day or two.

The moment they had appeared at the base of the volcano, Fjord turned to the rest of them. “Okay. Caduceus, Jester, you’re the best people we have to spot things. You guys take the air. Go as far around the volcano as Polymorph can take you. You see something? Let us know.”

Jester swallowed, pale under her blue skin, but she cast Polymorph and turned into a giant owl. She scooped up their other cleric and took flight.

“The rest of us move on a grid pattern, starting from here and moving outward. We only need to check the woods within the first thirty or forty feet. Give it a once over, but check thoroughly. Judging from what Jester said about bugs…”

Fjord’s jaw clenched. “We might smell him before we see him.”

He summoned his falchion and hopped down into the brush, cutting at the underbrush. The rest of the Nein spread out. Giant owl wings made almost no sound as Jester and Caduceus flew in circles overhead. Fjord could hear Yasha and Beau moving through the forest to his right.

As the day wore on, they moved alongside the volcano.

The afternoon bled into evening.

The Nein gathered up to spend the night in the shade of the trees. They didn’t talk. They just ate a small dinosaur that Veth had shot and went to bed. None of them got much sleep.

Fjord lay on the dirt, staring at the outline Jester made against the moonlight. She wasn’t even pretending to sleep. Her wide, haunted violet eyes just stared out into the woods. 

The skin around Jester’s eyes was agitated. She had been crying.

Fjord looked down, then nestled into his hollow on the ground. He said nothing. He closed his eyes...

And suddenly it was dawn. Yasha was shaking him. Then, Jester was turning into a giant owl, picking up Caduceus, and taking off again. 

Fjord got up -- his joints aching from a night spent on the ground -- and summoned the falchion again. His eyes darkened as the sun began to rise, its bloody light spilling through the towering trees. Black shadows stretched like fingers through the undergrowth.

The image was almost nostalgic.

_ -Fjord eyed the stone disc before them. “So, this… pedestal. Are we going to just  _ **_leave_ ** _ it?” _

_ Caleb scratched a flake of dark red from the residue off the top, making a face as he rubbed it between his fingers. Fjord saw the wizard’s piercing blue eyes narrow at the pedestal, silently analyzing it. _

_ They had just defeated Dashilla, in the depth of the Diver’s Grave, exploring the one-eyed monster’s lair in wake of their victory. Fjord liked to think that he had been a different person back then. More in love with the idea of power. Less aware of the price tag that power came with. It was before Uk’otoa’s strangling dreams, before the Kiln under Kravaraad, before the Wildmother, before the Laughing Hand… Even though it had been less than a year, this moment felt like a lifetime ago. _

_ Caleb’s eyes flickered uncertainly across the spiralling runes. “Well--” _

_ “What difference does it make?” Jester asked them both. _

_ Caleb ignored her, turning his gaze onto Fjord. “What are your goals? Your goal was, what, to…?” _

_ “I-I was only curious about the orb, but this seems so…” The half orc made an intrigued gesture at the weathered stone table. _

_ “You know what Avantika talked about, you know what she wanted, you think this has nothing to do with that?” Caleb demanded quietly, his words running together in the way that they did when his thoughts were going a thousand miles a minute. _

_ “The, uh, the temple I was in before had a recessed…” Fjord made another indicative gesture, trying to find his own words, “-- a recessed spot for the sphere. That just seems like… a  _ **_rune,_ ** _ right? Like a symbol.” _

_ Caleb eyed him critically. “Yeah, but if this was some kind of lock… You want to put the key in that lock?” _

_ “Uh, no. No…” Fjord waved it off. His eyes stayed locked on the pedestal. _

_ “Do you feel any different?” Caleb asked him. _

_ Fjord shook his head awkwardly. “I do not.” _

_ The wizard fell silent. They both looked at the pedestal, tension building in the cold water...  _

_ Finally, Fjord was the one to break it. He still didn’t look away from the pedestal. “Listen, this is more your thing than mine, but…”  _

_ He trailed off, eyeing Caleb sidelong. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what this pedestal does?” _

_ “Ja, I have some ideas and I am curious, but I want to know what you intend!” the wizard insisted, turning his whole body to try and look Fjord in the face. _

_ Fjord didn’t look him in the eyes. “W-- Well, I don’t--” _

_ “These come in  _ **_threes,_ ** _ ja?” _

_ “I-I don’t think this has anything to do with the sphere! It’s not like… the lock on the temple that I saw before! The top of this pedestal is covered in… rust?” _

_ Caleb’s face darkened. “No.” _

_ “...Blood?” _

_ The wizard’s expression turned a little more exasperated. He sighed, locking eyes with Fjord now. “Ja.” _

_ “Aren’t you at least a little curious what a little drippy drip might do?” _

_ Piercing blue met enticing yellow, searching for something that might not have been there. Caleb was always such a suspicious and  _ **_fucking smart_ ** _ person. It was what made him frustrating. It was what made Fjord begrudgingly respect him  _ **_now._ **

_ Finally, Caleb seemed to find what he was looking for. _

_ “I am always curious,” he admitted, not breaking eye contact. “Can I count on you to return the favor?” _

_ “Always.” _

_ Without a moment of hesitation, Caleb pulled his dagger, cut his palm open, and slapped it down on the table.  _

_ After a split second -- staring in something a bit like awe -- Fjord had slashed his own hand open and joined him. Blood saturated the water. He remembered there being so much in the water that it nearly obscured his vision, their shared lifeblood being slowly sucked into the table. One by one, the runes began to pulse and glow, spreading throughout the room, the lines of symbol shimmering a foreboding, dusky red. _

_ Something occurred to him. It didn’t really mean anything when he said it. “Is there a chance that we’re giving this to her?” Fjord wondered aloud. _

_ He glanced over at Caleb for his opinion. _

_ The wizard was quiet for a moment… then, he turned deliberately to meet Fjord’s eyes again. He had only taken a fraction of the damage that the half-orc had, yet he was visibly unsteady from the blood loss. He didn’t look at Jester as she fussed over their wounds. _

_ “I am following  _ **_your lead_ ** _ here…” Caleb whispered, his voice deeper than it normally was. At the time, Fjord hadn’t appreciated what that had meant. “This is your--  _ **_quest._ ** _ I have things that I need to do that are not here, and I am going to need  _ **_help.”_ **

_ The warlock let his eyes casually stray away from the intensity of that gaze, nodding to himself. At the time, Fjord had almost rolled his eyes at the melodramatics of it all. But, once Caleb was done, he let his head swoop sarcastically back to Caleb. _

_ Caleb raised his brows at him, blue eyes glimmering in the dark red dim of Dashilla’s lair. _

_ “I understand” Fjord murmured, smirking as he alleviated the tension. “I think we’re good. We can go.” _

_ Caleb stared at him a moment longer… but when he finally replied, it was with a soft voice. He started to turn away. “Okay...” _

_ “We understand each other.” _

_ Fjord reached out with his cut palm. A small cloud of blood seeped into the water before Caleb. The wizard had stopped, considering him… and then silently accepted it, their wounds meeting in the space between. Fjord let go pretty quickly, heading for the exit, but he had glimpsed Caleb gazing down at the mixed blood on his palm and back up at him. Like it meant something.- _

All these months later, on the island of Rumblecusp, he still bore the scar under his gauntlet.

Fjord bared his teeth, slashing at the overgrown plants like a machete and  _ snarling. _ He didn’t need to cut away the vines and undergrowth, not with what Jester had described, but he wanted to. His orcish blood boiled in his veins at the memories that came falling back over him. Tiny things. Big things. It was a bond measured in blood and sulfur and  _ bat shit  _ and Wildmother damn him if he left  _ Caleb fucking Widogast _ to  **_rot_ ** on  _ some fucking island in the middle of nowhere!! _

He let out a guttural sound and shoved forward, pupils little more than slits-- just as he tripped over something  _ heavy. _

“Oof-- _ FUCK!” _

Fjord hit the ground, his lungs flattening under the weight of his own fall. He coughed violently and sucked in a breath and turned and narrowed his eyes because what the  _ fuck  _ had he just  _ tripped over-- _

Stench poured down his throat and into his nose.

A cloud of flies  _ roared  _ over his head, dislodged by his fall.

Fjord only got the impression of a single insect crawling onto Caleb’s one, visible,  _ wide  _ blue eye, eyelids peeled back over bloodshot sclera. From his face, he couldn’t even tell that Caleb’s skin was white. Blood, red and black and clotted, sticky and eaten at by flies. The black stench of feces and exposed brain assaulted Fjord more harshly than any physical blow he could immediately recall… and the flap of a once-green cloak  _ still  _ covered the worst of the death blow.

Caleb’s skull was caved in. He had died terrified. He had died staring  _ up. _

Fjord looked down.

Sure enough, there it was. A clean scar on Caleb’s bloodless palm.

The warlock barely had enough time to scramble against the dirt -- his fingers accidentally brushing Caleb’s cold corpse -- and get on all fours before he was hurling his  _ fucking guts _ out. It felt like everything he had eaten in the past  _ week  _ came up, every muscle in his body clenching hard enough that he saw stars. Fjord clawed against the dirt, breathing hard. That was a mistake. More of that smell invaded his body; he managed to get a few feet away from Caleb’s corpse before he was throwing up again.

Jester’s voice pinged in the back of his head.  _ “Fjord! We see it! I just landed! Th-There’s a spell circle! A-And a… a… puddle… a really big puddle...” _

Fjord sucked in another breath and stumbled a few more steps away, bright lights popping in the back of his skull. His stomach lurched, ejecting nothing more than acid from between his teeth. “O-Ow…”

He took another shaky step… then another… walking slowly away from the remains of his blood brother until he could pull himself together.

In the distance -- through the ringing in his ears -- Fjord heard footsteps approach.

There was a moment of silence…

Jester  **_screamed._ **

Fjord braced his scarred palm against the nearest tree, summoning all the strength he could to stand back up. He could still hear the flies.  _ Gods, _ he could still  _ smell _ it… but there was nothing left in his stomach to purge. His gut clenched. But he turned to face the remains.

Caduceus was crouched gently over the body. He started to peel away the cloth covering Caleb’s head, trying to get a better look at the wound.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” Fjord roared.

Caduceus stared back at Fjord.

The warlock panted softly, his chest swelling and falling, his rage burning brighter than fire for an instant… then, his brain caught up with his instincts. He fell silent, brows furrowed, and licked his cracked lips. “I-- I’m sorry, Caduceus,” Fjord whispered. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m--”

“It’s fine…” Caduceus reassured him softly. “I’ll treat him real nice. Okay?”

“I-I… okay. I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine.” The firbolg returned his attention to Caleb. “Why don’t you go talk to the girls… I’ll take care of him...”

Fjord swallowed, arms wrapped around his middle. He felt strangely empty -- scoured of rage -- as he walked over to Beau, Jester, Veth, and Yasha and took his place among them. He watched quietly, feeling disembodied, as Caduceus banished the hundreds of tiny bugs gnawing at Caleb’s skin. The stench of rot and shit vanished, blown away by a pleasant sea breeze. Then, the firbolg drew out a small pouch, sprinkling a fragrant, dried purple powder over the wizard’s wounds, and then pulled out a tiny brush. 

With gentle strokes, Caduceus brushed the blood away from Caleb’s face. Clumps of black and red reduced to soft grey dust, powdering the leaves under them… and finally, he pulled out a small roll of delicate wooden tools.

“Here we go, fellow…” Caduceus whispered, slipping the tools into his skull and gently rooting around for stray bits of bone. He immediately found a fragment and -- after a moment of examination -- put it carefully back into place. “We’re going to get you all fixed up and handsome… Then when you wake up, you’ll be good as new, yeah? Yeah… that’s right...”

Even Beau grimaced and turned away. She tucked her face into Yasha’s shoulder. Yasha wrapped an arm around her, shielding the monk’s eyes and bowing her head. Jester sobbed softly and buried her face in Fjord’s chest. 

Fjord stroked her hair numbly. He didn’t look away.

Fishing out and reconstructing Caleb’s skull took the longest. By the time Caduceus waved them all over, the sun had fully emerged over the horizon.

Caleb was still deathly pale. But -- if not for his motionless chest -- Fjord might have guessed he was sleeping.

Fjord swallowed the lump in his throat, gently rubbing Jester’s back. “Hey,” he whispered to her. “Let’s go wake him up.”

Jester sniffed, rubbing her swollen eyes, and nodded. “Okay…”


	4. Death of a Cult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The resurrection ceremony takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter came out to 27 pages, so im splitting it into two parts and posting the other one tomorrow <3

Caleb’s hair drifted softly around his cool, ivory face, the gravity around him reduced to nearly nothing. Essek’s gravitational magic kept him wrapped like a swaddling cloth, as if gentle arcane hands could hold him together where Caduceus’s work could not. The dark elf laid a gentle hand on him — keeping him close to the earth — as he beckoned the rest of the Nein.

“Everyone gather,” Essek murmured, his shoulders heavy. “I will teleport us…”

Jester found herself beside the peaceful corpse of her friend. She pulled in a shuddering breath, her palms sweating and her heart pounding, and she looked at the others. Distress streamed from her eyes. “I-I don’t— I d-don’t want to touch him like this…” she admitted tearfully. “P-Please…”

“You don’t have to…” Veth whispered, looking like a ghost of her former self. “Just hold onto us.”

Jester clung to Veth’s hand and clenched her eyes shut. Trying her best to shut out the flat, horrible, pale color of Caleb’s skin. She didn’t watch as Essek murmured a single, echoing, arcane word and cast Teleport over them all. The tiefling’s normally supple blue skin was sickly and riddled with bug bites. Her stomach snarled, but even if she were offered a _strawberry cupcake with vanilla whipped cream_ she didn’t know if she could eat it. Every time she closed her eyes… all she saw was Caleb’s blood… and that one _terrified eye…_

The whole group except Essek stumbled, as if they had been dropped three inches into the sand.

They had reappeared, back in the center of Vo… and immediately, dozens of pairs of eyes turned to them. 

Even while the dawn was still bloody, some of the Traveler cultists were awake.

Beau tensed. “Probably should’ve gone to the beach or something, Essek…” she muttered. Even though none of the cultists looked particularly aggressive -- the most interested of them slumping in relief and smiling, hurrying over to speak to Jester, and the least interested yawning and going back to sleep -- Beau’s grip still tightened on her staff. “Fuckin’-- Too late now, I guess…”

Jester trembled and wiped at her cheeks frantically, in an attempt to pull herself together. A few of the cultists were walking right up to her! She-- She had to look happy. Professional. Priestess-y. “H-Hi! Hi!” she choked. “U-Uh, b-blessings be with you, my children.”

Kelbest -- a stout dwarf, one of the first to arrive and one of her very favorites -- gave her a hesitant smile. “Hello, um… blessings to you too, Priestess Jester…”

He looked up at Caleb’s pale, floating form, like he was going to say something about it, but finally he just looked back at her with bright eyes. “Ah-- Where have you been? Many of us haven’t seen you since the _party.”_

“W-We were, um…”

Jester looked at her friends for help, her smile close to cracking. “Um--”

Fjord stepped in. “We were taking care of some business,” he told the dwarf quietly. “Our friend… he got hurt real bad.”

Kelbest looked over at Caleb, suddenly seeming to notice that he wasn’t breathing. “Is-- Is he _dead?!_ I-- Oh no! What _happened?!”_

“Shut the _fuck--!_ Keep your voice down…” Fjord whispered hotly.

But it was too late; at the mention of death, suddenly the Travelercon attendees were much more awake. A few of them shook the sleeping ones awake, whispers rippling throughout the crowd. A few dozen began to gather, trying to get a glimpse of Caleb’s body to see if it was true. Yasha stepped protectively in between their prying eyes and the corpse of their friend, scowling thunderously. That made a few of them take a few steps back. However, the whispers still persisted.

“Oh Traveler, he’s really _dead…!”_

“What happened?”

“Why’d they bring a body here?”

“Maybe she’s going to bring him back to life?” someone whispered in the back.

Immediately, the cultists latched onto the whisper. Whispers turned into calls, eyes alight. “Priestess! Priestess, will you return him to life?!”

“Priestess!”

“Priestess!”

Jester’s face crumpled. “U-Um…!”

Suddenly, a forlorn meow drew her eyes.

Jester looked down. Frumpkin had come to her feet, yowling unhappily as he got up on his hind legs; he butted his head against her, arching his spotted back against her knees. 

Beau scooped up Frumpkin, her face pinched and stoic. The cat immediately went silent at the sight of Caleb’s motionless face… and after a moment, he just lay his head on Beau’s arm, watching his master with sad, uncanny eyes.

Jester wanted to cry more than she had ever wanted to cry in her _life._

Fjord put his hands out against the advancing cultists. “Hey, back up, alright? This isn’t a spectator sport,” he told them sternly. “Just go back to what you were doing, and when we-- Hey, don’t touch him!”

“N-No!” Jester exclaimed, her voice soft and strangled. “Um…”

The rest of the Mighty Nein looked at her for answers. Her followers looked at her for answers. Even more were gathering now at the promise of witnessing a resurrection...

Jester pulled in a shaky breath, unnerved by so many eyes.

_I think I understand why the Traveler doesn’t want to be a god now…_

“I-I am!” she declared, her fingers shaking. “I-- I am. I-I am… going to restore h-him to life! Just… Y-You can watch. I guess. B-But you have to give us some room… a-and--”

Suddenly, Fjord saw Jester blink once. Twice. Her eyes went glassy. She shivered, mouth slowly closing… and she didn’t move again.

“...Jester?”

He stepped over to her, waving his hand in front of her face. He snapped his fingers a few inches from her eyes. She didn’t react. “Jester. Hey!”

Unbeknownst to all of them, the high priestess of the Traveler had been pulled somewhere else.

…

Jester sucked in a breath, tears streaming down her face. “Ah!”

She looked around. Her perception was softened and obscured by pale green fog…

Jester sniffed thickly and turned in place. “Traveler?”

Her voice echoed into the vast distance, and then, suddenly, the fog began to be sucked away, rushing past her feet and shoulders as if by some great force of suction. Jester grabbed at her hood, hiding inside it as the wind whipped at the edges of her cloak… and then it was all gone.

The familiar, ivory wallpaper and deep, gleaming wood of the Lavish Chateau surrounded her. Jester was standing in her childhood room… only it was different from when she had last visited it with her friends. This was her room when she was _very_ young; paint and colored pencils covered the walls. When she was little, Jester would always draw herself being an adventurer. A prankster. A hero princess, fighting dragons and marrying princes. Slaying evil wizards. She didn’t remember all the deeds she had dreamed of -- nor could she really focus on the nostalgic, childish pictures on the walls -- but Jester felt like she would _recognize_ a few. Fighting the blue dragon in the Happy Fun Ball. Wreaking havoc in the temple of Bahamut. Giving the hag one half of a blueberry cupcake, sprinkled with the Dust of Deliciousness…

Tiny green lights blinked past her. _“Hello, Jester,”_ hummed the soft, mischievous voice of the Traveler.

And suddenly, his familiar, big green cloak popped into existence.

Jester threw her arms around him and sobbed. “Traveler--! Oh my god, it’s so _horrible…!”_

The Traveler petted her head. “I know, dear, I know. These things can be hard…”

“Sh-She… She bashed his _h-head_ in!”

“Ah. Yes. That too. Death can be… difficult too.”

Jester smiled up at him brightly, happy tears streaming down her face. “A-Are you here to help me bring him back to life?

The green-cloaked figure hesitated.

The smile slowly fell from her face. “T...Traveler?”

“See… about _that,”_ the Traveler murmured, sounding uncomfortable. “I’m not sure if I… _should._ Help you bring him back to life.”

Jester stared at him. A soft roar of disbelief filled her ears. “W-What--? W-What do y-you _mean…?!”_

“Oh, Jester.” He tried to wipe away her tears. “Please don’t be upse--”

Jester smacked his hand away.

The Traveler stared down at her, startled as his first follower stepped away from him. 

“Don’t be upset?! DON’T BE _UPSET?!”_

“Oh dear…” he sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Jester opened her mouth, her face crumpling in anguish. “I-- I don’t m-mean to y-yell, I--!” she yelled. “But _seriously!!_ What the _fuck?!_ What do you mean, you _don’t know if you_ **_should?!”_ **

The Traveler sighed, trying to be patient. “Because if you resurrect a man in front of a crowd, do you know who they’re going to tell? _Everyone,_ Jester. They will tell _everyone._ And this whole venture was meant to _stop_ people from praying to me. Not to send them home to tell everyone and their _grandmother_ about how the high priestess of the Traveler used the power of her _god_ to breathe life back into the dead.”

“C-Cayleb is a good man! H-He needs to come back to life!!”

The Traveler made a face. “I mean… your friend _kind of_ got what was coming to him.”

Jester felt like her blood had run cold. Her wide, streaming purple eyes stared up at the Traveler in disbelief.

“Oh, Jester, come now. Don’t make that face. You don’t know the whole story,” he murmured gently. “Listen, you have two followers of the Wildmother down there, don’t you? You’ve been doing an excellent job of curbing people’s enthusiasm about me, dear. Honestly--” he chuckled softly, “--this little murder was likely the best thing to happen to our party. Hosting a celebration of arrival and then fucking off for nearly two days? _Excellent._ Couldn’t be prouder. I’m sorry that your friend is dead, but ask your fluffy pink friend to perform the miracles, okay? We kind of _want_ this party to be a disaster.”

Jester was silent.

The Traveler peeked down at her. “Jester?”

“...If I kill this fucking party… will you help me bring Cayleb back?”

The Traveler blinked. “Oh. I-- Well, what do you have in mind?”

Jester’s heart sunk… but she looked up into the viridian eyes of her archfey friend. “I’m going to tell them the truth.”

…

Fjord gently shook her by the shoulders, eyes bright and worried. “Jester. Hey,” he whispered. He gently smacked her cheek. She didn’t respond. “People are staring. If you’re having a seizure, snap out of it!”

All at once, Jester gasped gutterally and came back to herself.

Fjord let out an explosive sigh of relief. “Oh my god. Hi. Welcome back.”

Jester didn’t really look at him. She looked down at the ground, brows furrowed… then she walked off.

“Uh.” Fjord didn’t try to stop her. 

He just watched with the rest of the Nein. Meanwhile, their tiefling cleric walked over to one of their makeshift tables, got up on top of it, and raised her arms.

“HEY! _FUCKWADS!”_

Fjord stared. “Uh oh.”

A ripple of shock and anger and confusion traveled through the crowd of green cloaks. The cultists looked at each other, whispering quietly to each other, confused if they misheard her-- but suddenly Jester was continuing to yell at the top of her lungs. “YEAH! Ya soft, steaming, _tiny little cocks!_ I got a message from the Traveler!!” she shouted.

Jester flipped two violent middle fingers at the crowd. “You can all SUCK IT!”

_Oh no._

“You wanna know why the Traveler wanted me to host Travelercon on Rumblecusp?!” Jester yelled, her voice pitched up furiously over the building whispers of the crowd. “Because up until about, oh, a _week_ ago, when you landed on this island, a big creepy crawly fire squid _monster_ made you forget your whole _fucking life!!_ Ask the people who lived here for five years! Or twenty five years! Or fifty years! _Their whole fucking lives!!_ ‘Cause guess what?! There’s no _return ship_ scheduled to bring you home!! You think the Traveler gives a _fuck_ about you?! You were gonna come here, and lose your memories, and stay here forever giving all your gold to a shitty volcano octopus!! _That’s_ how much you guys suck! The Traveler would rather offload you to some other shitty fucking cult than have you pray to him!! So do _yourself_ and _me_ and everyone a favor! Go home, and go _JERK OFF_ to _SOME OTHER_ **_SHITTY FUCKING GOD!!”_ **

Fjord and the rest of the Nein stared. It was like watching a train wreck. It was horrible, but they couldn’t take their eyes off it.

Jester flipped them off again, got down off the table, and walked back to her friends. She was crying, hot tears and snot bubbling down her face soundlessly as she pulled out the beautiful, glittering chunk of diamond they had acquired from Vokodo’s hoard — larger than any that the Mighty Nein had seen before — and put it on Caleb’s chest. “Let’s get this done...” she whispered brokenly.

She closed her eyes, and focused. Shutting everything else out. 

Shutting out the sounds of the cultists pulling off their cloaks and leaving them in piles on the ground. Some of them were spitting in her direction. Others were whispering softly and helplessly, wondering aloud how they were going to get home if there was no ship. Still others were actually going over to the villagers of Vo, asking them if what Jester had said was true. About Vokodo. An aura of discomfort saturated the air… and finally, there was silence.

By the time that she had finished casting Raise Dead, only the Nein, a few members of the Balleater’s crew, and Essek were left.

Fjord glanced at her worriedly… but he didn’t question her. 

He turned his eyes back to the chunk of glowing diamond resting on Caleb’s chest.

The gemstone glowed a brighter, and _brighter,_ and **_brighter_ ** green, minutes crawling by like molasses on a hot day, light nearly _searing_ into the eyes of each member of the Mighty Nein… and all at once, the diamond _boiled_ away. The precious gem burst into a single, fluttering beam that reached high, _high_ into the air. Tiny butterflies and buzzing pixies -- bright with illusory light -- peeled free of the inch-thick, dancing thread of blinding green. Then, like the end of a fishing line, the beam caught _something,_ and pulled tight.

 ** _“Does anyone have an offering to make...?”_** a soft, rich voice whispered in the back of all of their skulls. **_“The journey back from death is a difficult one… Call to him…”_**

Veth stepped forward.

Her tiny halfling fingers tangled with themselves, shaking as she looked down at Caleb’s motionless body. She struggled for the words, her mind thrown back to a declaration she had made not terribly long ago.

 _-“Caleb and I have a very special relationship. It is that of a parent and a child. But I am the parent. You do understand that, correct? I protect_ **_him_ ** _. He’s_ **_my_ ** _boy. And I keep_ **_him_ ** _safe. I want him to thrive, and get better and better, and more powerful and stronger, because he can achieve great things. When I found him, he was nothing. He was a scared little boy in the corner of a jail cell. And as we have gotten… more_ **_comfortable… he_ ** _has gotten more comfortable and come out of his shell. It is my job to protect_ **_him,_ ** _because I love him, and I am his protector. Not because_ **_he_ ** _protects_ **_me.”_ ** _-_

It felt like a lifetime since she had said those words.

Veth swallowed the rock-hard lump in her throat. She bowed her head, rubbing at her aching, burning, itching eyes. “I heard something…” she murmured to Caleb. “One time.”

Caleb didn’t respond. But something told her that he was listening. 

Veth pulled in another shaky breath, and continued. “Back when I lived with Yeza, and Luc… Luc was still little. I was at the market. A-And I overheard… another halfling. She was crying. I-I… I still don’t know her name,” she whispered. “But… I heard what she was saying. She was… She was pleading for help. ‘I only turned my back for a second,’ she was saying. ‘He’s gone. Please help me find him. Please h-help me find my boy…’ I heard it. And-- I just got scared. I ran straight home to Luc and I held him until I felt better… I still don’t know if that lady e-ever found her child. Or i-if she turned her back on someone she loved, just for a second, and then never saw him again…”

Veth took his cold hand, her eyes clenched shut, holding it tight to her cheek... like she might be able to pull him back all by herself. “I-I’ll never turn my back on you again, Caleb,” she whispered, her throat closing up. “N-Not ever again. Not even for a second. I _swear…”_

The beam of the Traveler’s light glowed a little brighter.

 **_“Next…?”_ **the voice purred.

Fjord stepped forward.

He didn’t hesitate for an instant. Eyes burning, he summoned his falchion, laid the edge on his palm, and slashed it open. 

“How… the _fuck…_ am I supposed to help you with your shit if you’re _dead?”_ Fjord growled. “I made you a goddamn promise. I am going to _keep it.”_

He grabbed Caleb’s other hand, pressing his wound to the corpse’s scar. Warm, rich red welled between their fingers -- like liquid rubies between his deep, forest green skin and Caleb’s deathly white -- and dripped into the grass. Fjord’s blood trickled down the wizard’s thin wrist… and a few of the illusory pink butterflies landed on the trail. Their tiny curled tongues licked up the blood.

_“So wake the hell up.”_

The Traveler’s light burst even brighter. Fjord exhaled in relief, eyes shining with intensity as he held onto Caleb’s hand.

**_“And last, but not least…?”_ **

“JUST BRING HIM BACK!!” Jester shrieked.

Her eyes burned like purple fire, crackling neon pink against the peach-colored sunrise. All the colors of the world grew brighter. The butterflies swirled and darted, suddenly taking flight. Overhead, the Traveler’s green cloak spread over all of them. The Mighty Nein had to screw their eyes shut or be blinded…!

The powerful green thread whipped, ripping a spirit from the ether and yanking it back into Caleb’s chest with the crack of a whip.

One by one, the party and their few onlookers opened their eyes, blinking away the spots in their vision. Fjord, Veth, Beau, Yasha, Caduceus, and Jester all looked down at Caleb. 

For what felt like an eternity, he didn’t move. Silence weighed the air down like water…

Then, Caleb’s eyelids fluttered. Ever so slightly.

Jester sucked in a shaky breath, happy tears welling in her eyes. “Cayleb…!”

Caleb’s eyes flew wide. He stared up at the Mighty Nein. His gaze immediately snapped to Jester. He blinked… and then he looked at Veth. 

The halfling woman smiled at him tremulously, struggling to smile through her tears. “H-Hey…”

Caleb frowned. He peered around at the rest of them -- at the tears in their eyes -- confused and holding his arms close to him like an insecure child.

“You bumped your head pretty hard,” Caduceus murmured, looking down at him peacefully. “You feeling okay, Caleb?”

Caleb looked up at him, seeming to suddenly notice him, and his blue eyes went _very_ round at the firbolg’s immense size. He tried to shrink into himself, bowing his shoulders… and suddenly yelped and flailed against the nothing beneath him. _“AH!”_

Jester startled. “I-I--!! Cayleb?! A-Are you okay?! It’s us!”

Caleb snarled and swiped upward, his body twisting violently. “AHH!!”

The sudden, wild, _sharp_ sound made all of them stare. Caleb flailed in midair, eyes rolling in his head, trying to find the ground.

“I… Shall I put him down?” Essek asked, starting to lower his hand. 

“Oh my god, put him _down!!”_ Jester pleaded.

“P-Put him down,” Fjord murmured, eyes wide and uneasy.

Essek hesitated, then carefully eased off his magic. Caleb’s fingers scratched at the dust, sending up a cloud of it, and then suddenly Caleb was sitting on the ground. The wizard sat there, back straight and eyes still very round. 

Fjord hesitated, a line darkening between his brows. Something wasn’t right here. He crouched down, reaching carefully out to touch his shoulder. “Hey-- Friend. You oka--?”

A flicker of panic shot across Caleb’s face. 

Before Fjord could touch him, he smacked the half-orc’s bloody hand away.

Fjord stared at the wizard, slack-jawed for a moment, and then he frowned and moved a little closer. His brows furrowed in utter disbelief. “Did _you just--?”_

Caleb slapped him in the face.

“Oh, you son of a _bitch--!”_ Fjord went to smack him back, but a strong, gentle grip stopped his arm. 

He looked up at Caduceus. Caduceus frowned down at the scared, confused redhead on the ground. “I don’t… think that’s Caleb…” he murmured. “That… That’s something else.”

“What--” Fjord sputtered, pointing at the wizard in frustration. “He slapped me! Does that asshole even know how worried I-- **_we_ ** were?! We looked for him for _fuck knows_ how long, and now he’s _slapping me_ when I’m trying to help him?!”

“I… don’t think he _does_ know how worried we were…” Caduceus murmured.

“What do you mean?” Beau murmured tensely.

Caleb let out a trembling, heartbreaking whine and curled into a ball. He was _clawing_ at his clothes now. Caduceus nodded in his direction, showing the Nein what was happening. “He’s not even trying to pull his shirt up over his head,” the firbolg murmured worriedly. “He’s just… pulling at them.”

“I-Is he too hot?” Jester whispered, her voice shot. “W-What’s _wrong_ with him...?”

“I mean… I’ve seen things like this before. But only with very, very old people. People close to the end of their life. Their brain starts to shut down slowly, and it leaves them more… animalistic. Like this.”

“My great-grandma did that, yeah, but… Caleb’s, like, _thirty,”_ Beau pointed out, scowling. She glanced at Caleb in concern, just as he finally managed to wrestle himself out of his bloodied shirt. “He’s too _young_ for this shit.”

Essek’s face darkened. “I… may know what this is.”

“Really?”

The rest of the Nein gathered up on Essek. “What is it?” Fjord asked bluntly, still miffed about getting slapped.

Caleb grunted softly and fell onto his back, attacking the mystifying puzzle that was his belt buckle. He attempted to gnaw at it before he realized he couldn’t reach it. Instead, he whined a shapeless complaint and began to wriggle his hips up through them.

Marius tried to speak up. “Um-- captain?”

 _“Shut up, Marius!_ I’m trying to listen to someone actually worth listening to, okay?”

Marius closed his mouth, averting his eyes as Caleb popped up from the ground -- naked as the day he was born. The wizard jogged off towards the beach. Frumpkin trotted -- unnoticed -- after Caleb, his tail high like a victory flag.

“Feeblemind,” Essek was saying quietly, “is a powerful enchantment. I do not know the details of the spell, but… I have heard stories of it being used in the Empire. It is a spell designed to shatter the intellect and personality of the creature it targets.”

“How the _hell_ does it do that?” Beau asked, grimacing.

“My understanding is that it magically blocks off all access to any memory, book learning, or social learning that you have accumulated over the course of your life. Like Mr. Clay said, it leaves you with little more than your basest instincts to drive you. Any… _intelligence_ that you may have had, if your mind is enfeebled, you become as a newborn babe…” Essek shook his head quietly, looking genuinely mournful. “It’s-- This is terrible. Caleb had such a… talented mind…”

“Hey! Quit getting a boner for his brain!” Veth snapped, eyes bright. “How do we _fix_ it?!”

“I—“

“Let’s just cast Greater Restoration on him!” Jester blurted.

Essek nodded awkwardly. “I-- Yes, that would do it. I imagine…”

“Great! Finally!” Jester reached into her pink bag, rummaged around, and pulled out a pouch of diamond dust. She turned around, looking for Caleb. “Cayleb, come on! Let’s fix you up, okay--? Wh… Where’d he go?”

There was a pile of clothes where Caleb had been sitting.

Caduceus frowned. “Oh dear. Well, _he’s_ naked.”

“What the hell?!” Fjord yelled. He looked at their audience. “Where did he go?!”

Marius pointed. “Th-That way, captain!”

“What the fuck, Marius?! Why didn’t you say something?!” Jester barked, running after their runaway wizard.

“I tried to! You--!”

 _“God,_ Marius,” Beau grumbled, shooting him a glare and marching past him.

“You’re useless, Marius.”

“You suck, Marius. Jester, wait for us!”

…

Caleb walked down the path to the beach, complaining in a single, soft, monotone note as he walked. It was a soft dirt path, gentle on his abused, bruised feet. As it was, he had half a mind to curl up on the ground and go to sleep in the warm dirt. 

The sun was nice. There were plants.

Bugs bad. Sun good.

Breeze… A breeze would be the _best._

So, Caleb continued onward, still humming in complaint about the stiffness in his muscles. It wasn’t a musical note, but a soft groan that rippled shapelessly in a poor semblance of the rise and fall of human speech. The splitting headache that he had didn’t help matters. As he walked, he would examine trees… and then pass them, immediately forgetting what tree he had just passed. Every few seconds, everything felt _new._

Despite the pain in his body, Caleb smiled towards the sky.

Sky good.

When he arrived on the beach, he stopped dead and stared at the ocean for a full ten seconds. It was so _big._

Too big. Too loud. Ocean bad.

Furry thing. Pet. Petting good. Furry good. Whiskers cute. Ears good. Tail good. _Very_ good.

Caleb beamed down at Frumpkin, giggling shamelessly and sitting his bare butt down on the sand. While he had only a little more processing power than a vegetable, this existence felt… peaceful. Quiet. New. He was empty, and therefore his surroundings created him anew with every few seconds that had passed. In a minute or two, Caleb had forgotten that he had ever been anywhere other than this beach. He basked in the breeze and the sun, smiling happily…

A twig snapped behind him.

Caleb whipped around, his guard instantly up.

Jester froze. “H-Hi… Cayleb.”

Blue. _Horns tail sweet pretty wonderful love._ Very good.

Caleb beamed and rolled over, sand in his messy red hair. He couldn’t remember who Jester was, or what a tiefling was, or their history together, or _why_ he felt absolutely, _uselessly_ in love with the creature in front of him, but it hardly mattered. He felt _good_ around her. That was all that mattered to him.

Jester took a shallow breath, a shameful blush flooding her face. “Hey…”

She opened the pouch of diamond dust, slipping her hand inside. “Come here, Cayleb. I’m just going to help you remember… okay?”

Caleb glanced down as the gem dust — mote by mote — began to shimmer and shine… then glow brighter and _brighter..._

 **_A woman in a green cloak grabbed a handful of shiny-glitter-marbles. Whirl and shatter, powder glowing. Like_ ** **diamonds** ** _._** ** _Scream. Anger._**

**_Sting._ **

**_Panic. Broken diamonds. Blue magic. Fear fear panic fear glow light pain run PAIN CAN’T MOVE fuck pain pain PAIN PAIN PAIN BLACK NOTHING THERE’S NOTHING OH GODS--!_ **

Caleb _screamed._

Jester stopped in her tracks, eyes wide. “W-Wha-- Cayleb, what’s--?! Here! Just let me--!” she tried to yell, hurrying across the beach. Her glowing hand stretched out towards him.

Caleb flailed, flinging himself into the surf like his life depended on it. His head went under.

Panic swelled in Jester’s chest. “Cayleb!!”

Frumpkin yowled, walking on his hind legs and leaping in agitation, following his master’s bobbing head along the current. Caleb splashed helplessly, panic and pain and salt water getting in his eyes. Trying to swim further out to sea. Bad! _Bad!_ Glowing hands _bad!!_

Jester felt like she was being strangled. Her heart was a hard lump of ice in her throat, her face and throat _burning_ with anxiety. 

Stomach twisting, she put her diamond dust away.

“H-Heyyyyy!” Jester called, in a soft, singsong voice. 

Tears welling in her eyes, she pitched her voice up, trying so hard to sound _happy_ over the crash of the waves. She clapped her hands, her whole body shaking. “C-Cayleb! L-Look at me! Hey!”

There was a terrifying moment when she was afraid that he hadn’t heard her…

Then — over a wave — she saw Caleb’s pretty blue eyes staring at her. He struggled slightly to tread water, the sea foam beading on his long red lashes. He blinked at her, soft and confused… and then he smiled hesitantly… and then he smiled _brightly._ Like he had forgotten even the last few seconds.

Jester swallowed the lump in her throat… and gently cast Control Water.

Caleb started to swim back towards her, the gentle swell of her magic guiding him back to the shore. He looked down into the invisible currents, confused, but he smiled softly as the water hugged his limbs and set him gently back down on the sand. She pulled in a shaky breath, fingers trembling… and concentrated.

Tiny globules of water sparkled, drifting off his skin and floating back to the sea. Behind Jester, all the rest of Caleb’s friends — Veth, Fjord, Beau, Yasha, Caduceus, _Essek_ — gathered, watching their wizard slowly straighten up. He looked innocently at all of them.

Frumpkin rubbed against his legs.

Caleb looked down in surprise. He lit up. “Ah!”

They all watched as he leaned down, picked up Frumpkin, and walked up to Jester. Caduceus started to take out his own pouch of diamond dust, preparing to cast his own Greater Restoration, but Jester held out a hand to stop him. The firbolg hesitated, but he put his components away. 

Meanwhile, Caleb walked right up to Jester and showed her his cat. “Ah!”

“Y-Yes… he’s a very pretty kitty…” Jester whispered. Oddly transfixed by Caleb’s eyes. She had never _noticed_ how _fucking beautiful_ his eyes were. The same color as the ocean, nearly incandescent in the sun, framed by long, _long_ lashes. Before now, Caleb had always kept his eyes down and away, the light in them dulled by sadness and regret and _horrific_ memories that he had kept buried deep inside him for _years_ and _years…_ But now, the light had returned to them. A light of innocence and open adoration and _curiosity,_ untouched by death and fire…

“You’re really _pretty,_ Cayleb…” Jester whispered without thinking.

He looked at her — the meaning of her words escaping him — but the softness in her voice reached him so easily. He didn’t close up. He _beamed_ at her… then, he frowned, worriedly.

Jester sniffed. She hadn’t realized her tears had spilled over again. “I-I’m sorry…” she whispered thickly, her voice nearly breaking. “I just… I-I know that this is a terrible thing that happened to you! But— But you seem so _happy!_ A-And— I know I should hate this! Y-You would hate this! You w-wouldn’t like it if you could see yourself like this because you’re so sad all the time!! And I don’t want you to be sad all the time!! W-We _love_ you, Cayleb… _All_ of us…”

Caleb touched her face, brows furrowed with worry. “Mm.”

“H-Huh…? What…?”

He cupped her cheeks, squishing them gently. He looked deep into her eyes… uncertain and confused. Why was she crying? She was speaking softly and crying. She was good. Crying was bad. Happy. Happy was good…

Caleb grunted and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.

Jester gasped, her beading tears glittering overly bright in the sun, as the warmth of Caleb’s body surrounded her. He was _warm._ He was alive and beautiful, more beautiful than ever before...

She choked softly and hugged him back.

Meanwhile, Caleb looked over her shoulder at the others. His eyes landed on Fjord, who was staring at him in disbelief. So was everyone else, but he just squinted at Fjord.

Green. Strong. Pretty. Good. But… male. Competition. _Jealous._

Caleb squeezed her tighter, glaring at Fjord. _Mine._

The half-orc opened his mouth, uncertainly leaning over to Beau. “Why is he looking at me like that?” he whispered.

Beau shrugged. “Beats me, man…”

Suddenly, Jester blinked. She felt a warm spot growing slowly on her skirt… then she smelled it. 

Her eyes blew wide. 

“OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD HE’S PEEING!”

“Oh shit-- fuck! _Balls!!_ Caleb, what the fuck?!”

“GET HIM OFF ME!!”

“AAAAAAAAAAH!!”

“Quit yelling at me, you little-- FUCK! It’s going everywhere now!! Veth, do something!!”

“What do you want **_me_ ** to do?!”

“Oh-- SHIT! He got away!! Beau, get him!!”

“WHY _ME?!”_

“YOU’RE THE FUCKIN’ FASTEST!! GO CATCH THAT STUPID WIZARD!!”

Beau let out a roar of exasperation and took off running after a yelling, butt-naked Caleb. “GET BACK HERE!!”

She tackled him into the sand with a dull _thud._ Caleb screeched in surprise, rolling onto his back and slapping at her rapidly. Beau smacked each feeble blow away from her face, trying to keep him from landing a hit. “I’m not trying to _hurt_ you, you naked dick!” she screeched. “Would you-- _STOP!”_

She punched him in the nose. _Whack._

Caleb went limp.

Caduceus finally managed to catch up with them. “Oh dear…” he murmured, quickly laying a hand on him to cast Spare the Dying. A few flowers sprouted around the wizard’s broken nose, dried up, and fell off as the cleric’s spell stabilized him.

Fjord came running up, heaving for air, followed close behind by Yasha and Veth. His pants were spattered with pee. “Why’d you do **_that?!”_ **he yelped, gesturing madly at the sight of Caleb unconscious again.

“YOU _TOLD ME_ TO FUCKIN’ _CATCH_ HIM?!” Beau yelled back, her voice cracking wildly.

“I DIDN’T TELL YOU TO FUCKIN’ _KNOCK HIM OUT!!”_ Fjord screeched. _“BEAU!!”_

Supervised closely by Veth, Yasha dragged the unconscious Caleb away from the beach back on the path to Vo as Beau and Fjord continued to yell at each other. Caduceus attempted to calm the situation, was instantly overwhelmed by the volume, sighed lowly, and gave up after about ten seconds to follow Yasha. Jester looked down at the wet spot on the front of her skirt, flushed in frustration and embarrassment, and _burst_ into tears, _wailing_ at the top of her lungs. Her sobs echoed up and down the beach, clashing with Beau and Fjord’s screaming.

Essek stood awkwardly in the middle of it all for a few seconds.

Finally, he shifted uncomfortably, cast Invisibility on himself, and disappeared, unwilling to be present in such a moment of utter chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor essek, he just came out to answer some magic questions and the m9 had to m9


	5. By Lamplight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emmeline Becker - or rather, Baroness Emelia Petra Schulze - settles back into her days at home, and makes a discovery within Caleb's belongings that may lead her to her next target. Meanwhile, the Mighty Nein discuss what to do next.

Emmeline opened her tired eyes. Late afternoon sun streamed in through the window.

She wrinkled her nose in discontent, groaned, and begrudgingly sat up, pulling the sheets up to cover her bare chest. She buried her face in her hand, trying to massage the sleep from her eyes… then she frowned and lifted the sheets, peering down at her state of dress.

Oh. Right. Aldric had been happy to see her.

Emmeline sighed and smiled bittersweetly, half exasperated, half bemused by her husband’s vigorous nature. She shook her head and got up.

One late breakfast of hearty grain toast, strawberry preserves, and fresh milk later, the baroness was dressed for what remained of the day in a soft, patterned yellow dress and settled in her office. It wasn’t her finest dress, but Emmeline didn’t feel like leaving her house. Not after yesterday. Hell, she was still lagged by her teleportation. It was nearly sunset _now,_ and she was just waking up… although, her nineteen hours of sleep likely didn’t have anything to do with the shift back to Rexxentrum time. 

It likely had more to do with… that. Thankfully, she wasn’t having nightmares _yet._

“You wanted to see me, Baroness Emelia?”

Emmeline glanced over her shoulder from her place at the desk, still chewing on bread and jam. Ana, her maid, stood in the doorway with a nervous look. “Mm. Yes, dear.”

The enchantress stuffed the last bite into her mouth and wiped her hands clean. “Do you remember the dress you burned yesterday?” she asked through the mouthful.

“...Yes.”

“Did you tell anyone about it?”

Ana shook her head.

Emmeline raised a brow, but she smiled affectionately. “Smart girl.”

Ana relaxed a little. “Um… Did you need me for anything else, milady?”

Emmeline thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, actually.” She beckoned the redheaded maid into her office. “Close the door behind you.”

Ana hesitated, but she obeyed. The door clicked closed behind her, and she approached the baroness’s desk as the older woman reached into a drawer. She watched cautiously… then the tension drained from her shoulders. It was just a nondescript brown bag.

Emmeline stood up, put her hands on Ana’s shoulders, and positioned her in the center of the room.

“Hold it open. No, not towards me-- Towards the corner. Good girl.”

Ana opened her mouth, about to ask what she was going to do, when suddenly the baroness reached over her shoulder and -- with one hand -- turned the bag inside out. There was a deafening _whoosh._ The resulting **_whump_ **was audible throughout the house.

Ana stared. Even Emmeline’s brows shot up.

A mound of material wealth sat in the corner of her office now -- dozens of items and _hundreds_ of coins, shimmering like a king’s treasure trove -- with a few spare coins still rolling around on the floor.

The enchantress coughed in surprise… but she blinked, shook her head in disbelief, and dragged her chair over to the pile. She pulled up a second chair. “Help me sort through this, dear.”

“Y-Yes, milady…” Ana whispered, her jaw practically on the floor.

Emmeline gave her a sidelong glance, analyzing her expression… then she just sat down, leaned down, and started counting gold pieces. Her maid stood there for a moment longer, but eventually, she joined her.

They were counting and cataloguing until sunset. Ana was in awe of every little item she came across, marveling at the intricacy and the precious materials. She touched more money than she had ever seen in her life in those few hours -- and while she was sorely tempted to pocket some of it, the young woman obediently sorted it the way that Baroness Emelia told her to. Once they were finished, Ana stood back, shifting from side to side to work out the pins and needles in her legs. She just looked again, marveling at the neat stacks of coins, art, gems, odds and ends.

“What is all this?” Ana murmured curiously. She picked up a tiny carved cat figure, smiling at the look on its little face.

Emmeline eyed the little cat statue -- made of driftwood -- in her maid’s hand… then she looked over at the thousands of gold on her desk.

A soft clink of coins caught Ana’s attention. She looked over, eyes round. Emmeline made sure she was watching when she put fifty gold pieces into a small pouch, turned, and held out her hand for the cat. Ana looked at her… then at the pouch… then at her… and obediently handed her the little figurine. 

The baroness gave her a tiny, approving smile.

She dropped the tiny cat statue into the pouch, pulled the drawstring, and slipped it into Ana’s apron. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, dear,” Emmeline murmured, glancing at her softly. “Maybe you were having a daydream?”

Ana lit up. “Y-Yes! Yes, ma’am. Milady. I was just imagining things. Thank you!”

She curtseyed and hurried out of the room.

Emmeline finally let her smile fall. She turned, _staring_ at stacks of gold on her desk. “What the _fuck...”_ she whispered, holding her own cheeks. She just took it in for a second… then she huffed, let her hands drop, and picked up a folded letter that had been tucked into Caleb’s bag. She opened it up and began to read...

Her dark eyes flickered over the text. Emmeline stopped, blinked, and reread it. “Wait…” she breathed.

She read it a third time.

…

Hours later, it was growing close to midnight. Only a single window was still lit in Baron Aldric Schulze’s manor; a tiny beacon in the dark, moonless night.

Baron Aldric stretched, grunting softly and popping his back on his way to bed. He carried a single candle up the stairs and into the narrow corridor of the third floor, where a strip of warm golden light spilled out onto the floor. His wife’s office.

He gave a light knock and opened the door. “Emelia?”

“Aldric, would you--”

The baron paused, frowning uncertainly. “Give me a moment, darling,” he heard her murmur quietly.

Aldric’s eyes narrowed slightly. He opened the door anyway.

Her office was small, lit by lamps and softly pulsating globules of light. Over a stone mantle — bathed in soft orange radiance — a dull iron mace was mounted, but it was the only other decoration in the room. Nearly every square inch of room on the walls was covered in shelves and books; some of them were of an arcane nature, he knew, but they were obscured behind fake covers. The rest of the books were ledgers for their accounts, fantasy novels, the occasional erotica, and stories that his wife had written herself. At least ten of the tomes on her shelf bore the name _Baroness Emelia Petra Schulze._ It was one of the things he loved most about her. But…

Aldric put that out of his mind. He walked up to his wife. “Welcome home.”

Emmeline slipped her wedding ring back on and turned to look up at him, hiding the trace of irritation from him walking in without her permission. “It’s good to be home,” she murmured, accepting a kiss on the cheek.

Her desk was clean. She had long since hidden Caleb Widogast’s small fortune back in his bag, the nondescript leather satchel tucked neatly beneath her desk.

Aldric looked down at her, frowning at her appearance.

Emmeline touched her face, sighed, and quietly cast Seeming on herself. Her hair was still short, but her skin was smooth, pale and unmarred as her scars disappeared beneath the illusion. Her nose was straight. Her eyes were softer, bigger, tastefully lined with makeup. She gave him a halfhearted smile.

His gaze softened. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you…”

Aldric walked back over to the door and closed it. “So.”

Emmeline tensed. She tried not to let it show. Instead, she raised her jaw, stood, brushed off her skirts, and straightened her back. The baroness was tall, but her husband was a few inches taller, his silver hair and strong jaw lending him an immediate, _commanding_ presence that her plain, scarred face never earned for her. Illusion spells to enhance her looks had been… _a politely requested necessity_ in public. And -- slowly, as she grew older, less youthful -- at home too.

Emmeline met her husband’s eyes as he approached. “So,” she echoed firmly.

Aldric eyed her… then sighed wearily and put his candle down on her desk. “Are we going to talk about the cellar?”

Emmeline nodded lightly, acknowledging it. “The next time I go to the city, I’ll restock. You still like the 815 Merelliot red, yes?”

“This isn’t about the _wine,_ Emelia.”

“I imagine not.”

Aldric’s jaw clenched. “Are you going to tell me why there’s an arcane circle in the cellar? Which you just burst out of? Like…” he gave an exasperated wave of his hand, “a _toad_ in the spring? Covered in _blood?”_

Emmeline’s expression went blank.

“... Ana told you.”

“Yes,” Aldric muttered, glaring at her sharply. _“Ana_ told me. Not _you._ Emelia, I told you when we bought this house--”

“Darling--” 

Her husband spoke over her firmly with the ease of practice; Emmeline closed her mouth and clenched her jaw in frustration, but she kept her hands down and waited for him to finish. “--Which, may I remind you, **_you_** pleaded for me to buy so long ago! I _told_ you that if you were going to get into anything _mad_ again, to at least _tell_ me before you did it. I have--”

Aldric sighed again and touched her shoulders, looking at her imploringly. “I’m _worried_ about you, darling,” he insisted. “You’ve spent more time overseas than at home, and when you _are_ at home you’re holed up in here with your books and your-- _gods know_ whatever you do in here! You’ve asked me to respect your boundaries, love. And I’ve tried my best! But… there’s only so much I can do when you don’t _tell me anything,_ Emelia.”

Emmeline hesitated, shifting… but after a moment, she exhaled softly and tried to relax. 

“I’m sorry, darling.”

She touched her forehead, rubbing at a scar that was no longer visible beneath her illusion. “I will tell you. I promise. Just… not now, alright? I just…”

She could still feel the crunch of a human skull under her mace.

So much blood.

_Too much blood._

Emmeline closed her trembling fingers into a fist and carefully pressed it against her mouth, trying to hide her shakiness. “I don’t know if I can right now,” she confessed quietly, not meeting Aldric’s eyes. “It’s… too fresh.”

“Did you kill someone?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. Aldric looked down at her sternly, searching for the truth in her face. 

Emmeline opened her mouth… then closed it and just nodded.

“Was it anyone we know?”

Emmeline shook her head.

“Anyone that can be traced back to you?”

“N-No. I-- No…”

Aldric sighed in relief and rubbed her arms. “Then we have nothing to worry about,” he whispered. “Right?”

Emmeline took a deep breath and nodded, accepting a gentle hug from her husband. He squeezed her tenderly in his arms… and for a few minutes, the enchantress allowed herself to melt into it. A tiny smile -- heavy with a warm, bittersweet affection -- crossed her lips. Her husband pressed gentle kisses into her neck and shoulder...

Then, she felt the top laces of her dress start to loosen.

Instantly, Emmeline’s eyes opened. She started to draw away, making an exasperated sound. “Darling, I--”

“You’ve been gone for _two months,_ Emelia, and you were practically _unconscious_ when I saw you yesterday,” Aldric teased her playfully, even as she turned her back. He plucked gently at the lacing on the back of her dress. “Come on…”

She grabbed his hand gently and pushed it down, looking at him sternly. _“Aldric._ I’m not in the _mood.”_

The baron’s jaw tensed. “Same way you weren’t in the mood the night you _left?_ And I did all the work last night. You could at least--”

“What. Aldric. I could at least _what?”_ Emmeline snapped, her black eyes glittering dangerously.

“You could at least put in a little _effort.”_

Emmeline barked a laugh of disbelief. “Effort?”

“Would you like me to _explain?”_ Aldric snapped back.

“Make sure to use small words. I’m not as _bright_ as you,” the enchantress snarled.

“I am your _husband!_ It is my _right to—“_

Emmeline unlocked the metal latch attaching her spellbook to her side, her eyes dark. A finger poised to open the page to Suggestion. A silent warning.

Aldric went still, anger boiling in his eyes.

There was a moment of dark silence… then, finally, Aldric huffed and turned to leave. “Get that goddamn _spell circle_ out of the wine cellar, Emelia.”

The door slammed behind him.

Emmeline flinched.

She exhaled, rolled her eyes, and turned back to her desk. Her dress was still loose, but she didn’t let it distract her as she opened Caleb’s letter. She read it again to herself, for the umpteenth time.

* * *

_-To the attention of Mrs. Lavorre, Nott and Brave:_

_I have received this letter on behalf of my elder mentors of the Soltryce Academy. This is a curious bit of fortune, it would seem. I have not spoken with my uncle for quite some time, and while I am sad to hear of his passing, I am also quite interested to hear about this inheritance and the circumstances surrounding his death. I can be reached at the 31st Woadstone Manor on the northeastern end of the Shimmer Ward of Rexxentrum in the Empire. I travel often, so should I not be present, present this letter to any present servants and stay within the visitor quarters as our guest. I will return within a day._

**_-Astrid-_ **

* * *

Emmeline folded the letter, that quieted crackle of silent rage popping beneath her skin. “Ms. Astrid,” she repeated softly to herself.

She tapped the paper against her wrist, thoughtfully, chewing on the inside of her cheek… then, after a moment, she laid it flat on the table. She pulled out another piece of paper, a quill, and a bottle of ink, and quickly copied the text of the letter, word for word; once the ink was dry, she folded the copy up, making sure the edges were clean, and put it into her dress pocket.

She tucked the original letter into her stationary drawer, closed the drawer, and locked it.

Finally, she knelt down beside her desk. Her delicate fingers felt carefully along the side...

A hidden panel popped free. Emmeline pulled it open.

Caleb’s spellbook lay there, dried blood still decorating the top of its binding. The enchantress picked it up, opened it, set it on her desk, and began to read. She folded down pages of spells that she liked, marking them for transcription. More than one she found made her raise her brows.

Emmeline propped it up and dragged her lamp closer, eyeing the name of one particular divination. 

“Gift of Alacrity…?” _Dunamancy…?_

She turned another page. “Widogast’s Vault of Amber…”

Another page. “Widogast’s Web of Fire…”

Another. _“Disintegrate?”_ Emmeline whispered in disbelief, eyes as bright as a child’s in a candy store. “By the _Traveler…”_

She frowned and let the book drop flat onto her desk, squinting down at Caleb’s bag of holding and the mountain of gold that lay inside. There were more than a dozen spells that she wanted to transcribe here. The dead wizard’s fortune would be enough to pay for paper and ink and _then_ some. A tingle of excitement danced in her belly, overwhelming the dread that had swamped her before. Emmeline chewed on a grin and went back through his spellbook, writing a shopping list on a separate piece of paper. 

It was nearly five in the morning by the time she scooped up Caleb’s bag and threw it over her shoulder. She hid his spellbook back behind its hidden panel -- her brain buzzing with new ideas -- and she hurried out to the stables.

Just as the sun was rising again, Emmeline had mounted her favorite mare and rode off for Rexxentrum.

Through the upstairs window, Aldric watched her race off down the country road. 

He clenched his jaw, exhaled in frustration, and finished lacing up his boots. He grabbed his hat and went downstairs, slamming the bedroom door with far more force than necessary.

...

Meanwhile -- in Vilya’s house on Rumblecusp -- Caleb sat in front of Yasha. He stared vacantly up at her, now dressed in the softest, loosest garments that they could find on the island. It closer resembled a poncho than actual clothes, but it covered everything that needed to be covered.

Yasha offered him her palms. He immediately stared down at her hands, eyed her suspiciously… then he raised his entire arm and brought it down, slapping her fingertips. 

_Smack._

He looked back up at her.

Yasha smiled encouragingly and fluttered her fingers again. “It’s okay. Doesn’t hurt.”

Caleb smacked her hand again, gently. “Ah.”

“You want another grape?”

_“AHH!”_

“Oh-- fuck. God. Okay,” Yasha sputtered, offering him another little purple fruit. He snatched it from her and shoved it in his mouth, eyeing the bits and baubles in her hair as he chewed; he swallowed and touched a silver bauble tied into her dreadlocks. Yasha went very still, trying to smile and trying _very hard_ not to spook him. “You like that? It’s shiny, yeah… Ow-- Ow ow ow, okay, ow, no pulling, please. No pulling. No _biting, please._ Ow…”

Meanwhile -- outside, out of earshot -- the rest of the Mighty Nein were having a very important conversation.

“We cannot cast Greater Restoration on him,” Jester insisted quietly, looking imploringly at her friends. “Not now. He-- He nearly drowned himself when I came up to him! I think, whatever he can remember from… back then, it’s making him panic around magic!”

“And remind me why we can’t just pin him down and get it done?” Fjord asked, brows furrowed.

Caduceus looked at him sternly. “Fjord…” he murmured, soft and disappointed. “After all he’s been through?”

“Look, I understand that he went through a fucking traumatic experience!” the half-orc insisted. “But the longer he stays like this, the more pissed he’s going to be at _us_ for waiting. Plus, I-- _Beau._ Beau, you _saw_ what he was acting like. He’s acting like he belongs in a home for the mentally insane.”

“Fjord.” Beau looked at him darkly. “Don’t fuckin’ say that. Okay?”

“I-- Why am I the only one who’s looking at this practically?” Fjord demanded, staring at all of them. “I feel sorry for him. I do. But coddling his feelings while he’s feebleminded isn’t going to make a difference to his emotional state when he gets back to normal, right? If we pin him down and force a Greater Restoration, Caleb will _wake up_ \-- for _real_ this time -- and he’ll say _thank you._ And then we’ll have our wizard back! Not to mention, _none of us_ can remember that damn woman’s name. If she was a member of the Assembly, Caleb would remember her name. He might even have a place that we can start looking for her. Oh, by the way! Did I mention!! She _has Caleb’s shit!!_ He can’t _cast anything_ without his wizard shit! The longer we wait, the colder her trail is going to get and the harder it’s going to be to get his shit back. It’s already been _three days_ since she killed him and bamfed out. Caleb is not going to be mad at us if we force him back to consciousness. Not if it’s for time and _effectiveness.”_

“Fjord, you didn’t see him when I tried to cast on him!” Jester insisted. “H-He was _terrified!_ You don’t _know_ how he would feel!”

“Guys.”

He looked at Beau. The monk was glaring at them all firmly, her muscular arms crossed and her knees spread. “I’m not cool with holding our friend down and forcing a spell on him. That shit will give me nightmares,” Beau growled. “More nightmares than I already got seeing his head hamburgered on the forest floor.”

Veth looked sick.

Fjord hesitated… then he sighed and threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay. What do you guys want to do?” he asked flatly. “Because Caleb’s going to be fucking pissed if he wakes up in another _eleven years_ and finds out we didn’t do _shit_ about this situation. We owe it to him to _do_ something! _I_ owe it to him!!” 

_“You_ owe it to him?” Caduceus repeated softly.

 _“Yes,”_ Fjord growled. 

He subconsciously rubbed his freshly bandaged palm. _“I_ owe it to him.”

Everyone looked at each other, hesitant. 

Finally, Beau sighed heavily and let her head fall back. “This conversation is going in circles,” she grunted, glaring up at the canopy. “Caleb is helpless as he is, and he’s dumb as fuck, but he’s kinda happy. If we force a Greater Restoration on him, Caleb is gonna be able to do _some_ arcane stuff, but unless we get his shit back from Miss Feeblemind, he’s gonna have to start from scratch. That’s gonna be expensive, it’s gonna take a long time, and it’s gonna break his heart. So that’s not okay either.”

“So… what do we do?” Jester murmured worriedly.

Fjord chewed on the inside of his cheek. “...We split the party.”

“What?! No!”

“That’s a terrible idea!”

“It’s really not,” Caduceus murmured softly. 

Everyone turned to stare at him. The grave cleric smiled bittersweetly, unhappily, but he continued. “Whoever decides to stay with Caleb, he will have to be given near constant care and attention to keep him comfortable. Right now… he’s like an abused animal. He… _recognizes_ us as his friends and allies, but he’s not relaxed enough to allow us to get close to him with a high level spell. He will have to be… _loved,_ and _cared for,_ and _coaxed,_ until he’s ready.”

“We don’t know how long that’ll _take,_ though.”

“We also don’t know how long it will take to get the Eden’s Horizon seaworthy. Or how long it will take to find Caleb’s things. Ideally, we can acquire his spellcraft items and return before Caleb wakes up again.”

“He’s got a point,” Beau muttered, scowling.

“But-- Rumblecusp is dangerous!” Jester interrupted. “Cayleb needs to be safe! Where would we go to… you know…” she mumbled, blushing in embarrassment as she lowered her voice in a mockery of Caduceus’s soothing tone, “... _love_ and _care for him_ and _coax_ him? We can’t be worrying about monsters while we’re taking care of him!”

“Wherever he’s going, I’m going,” Veth told them all, her eyes hard. “I’m not leaving him alone again.”

“Veth… I mean, we kinda need you. You’re our _thief.”_

“I’m a mother _first!”_

Caduceus raised his hands, gently quelling the brewing argument. “That’s a decision that Veth has to make, not us,” he murmured. “At the very least, either I or Jester has to stay with Caleb. We’re the ones who can cast the spell.”

“Whoever’s not staying with him _has_ to come with us,” Beau insisted gruffly, glancing at Jester. “If anyone else gets Feebleminded, we might need a Greater Restoration too.”

“But where are we going to go?!” Jester repeated.

“Xhorhas. Essek’s here. He can teleport us to the Xhorhaus, right? And then when we’ve decided on how we’re splitting up, he can take us to Rexxentrum. The Cobalt Soul is in Rexxentrum. I can meet up with some old criminal contacts too, see what I can turn up.”

Fjord looked firmly at all of them. “Whatever’s happening at the Xhorhaus, I’m going to Rexxentrum.”

“So am I,” Beau murmured. She looked at the others. “Jester?”

Jester hesitated… but she smoothed out her skirt and straightened up. “I’m staying with Cayleb,” she whispered. “I can’t help but feel like this is kinda my fault. What happened to him… it was because of what I said to that mean, _mean_ lady…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Jessie… but… I get where you’re coming from…”

Veth piped up again. “I’m staying with Caleb too.”

Beau nodded. She was quiet for a moment, then looked at Caduceus. “Deusie? What about you?”

“I suppose I’m coming with you to Rexxentrum,” the big firbolg murmured. “Like you said… if anything goes wrong, I’m the only other person who can cast Greater Restoration. What about Yasha?”

“I can’t imagine she’d want to sit with her thumb up her ass while Caleb’s killer roams free. You see how she was sharpenin’ that sword? She’s comin’ with us.”

Fjord nodded. “Alright then. We have a plan.”

He pointed at Veth and Jester. “You two are staying at the Xhorhaus with Caleb, to get him relaxed and happy enough to accept a Greater Restoration. Once he’s back to normal, if _we_ haven’t gotten his shit back and come home by then, you join us in Rexxentrum. Keep us updated with Sending.”

Jester nodded, eyes bright with determination. “Okay! I will send a message every day!”

Fjord blinked at the thought. “Maybe not, uh… _every_ day. But… you know. Whenever there’s a development.”

“Aww. Okay…”

Fjord pointed at Caduceus, Beau, and himself. “Meanwhile, Yasha and _we_ are going to Rexxentrum, to recover Caleb’s shit and _find_ Miss Feeblemind. Just _find._ As much as I wanna kill her on sight, we still don’t know all that she can do. We should have the whole group to take her on, _especially_ if she’s with the Cerberus Assembly. Trent Ikithon is not to be fucked with. Not unless we have _all_ of us.”

Beau smirked. “Sounds like a plan, captain.”

She put her fist in. Fjord nodded, eyes like steel, and rested his fist on top of hers. Veth did the same. So did Jester. Caduceus finished off the tower with a gentle, loosely clasped fist.

“Oh yeah, uh, where’s Essek?”

“Shit. Gotta find him and tell him our plan. He’s kind of important to the whole, uh, execution.”

They all mumbled an affirmation and split up, calling for Essek. 

Essek — who had been sitting invisibly with them the whole time — didn’t say a word. His spell lasted another few minutes. He would take as many seconds of peace as he could manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the little wooden cat figure that Ana took is the same one Caleb fabricated in Ep 106 (*see timestamp "A Fog Lifted" 3:01:51)
> 
> now excuse me while i heckin rewatch Ep 85 - 91ish to refresh my brain on what they actually DID and SAW in Rexxentrum last time. 
> 
> i was also thinking about drawing some art for this fic!! comment what you wanna see though, i'm having more trouble figuring out what i WANT to draw than actually DRAWING it...


	6. An Open Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nein finally arrive back at the Xhorhaus. Caleb gets a bath, the Rexxentrum team talks about their approach, and Fjord struggles to come to terms with the reality he is presented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they got the Xhorhaus in Ep 62… idk how long it’s even been since they’ve been back to Rosohna, but i’m guessing it’s been a while?? (I fell out of the fandom around episode 60 and came back after the corona hiatus on Ep 100) so if anyone knows what the correct in-game time is, yell at me. I heeeeavily referenced the wiki to get all the locations in the Xhorhaus <3
> 
> gosh, i actually have a LOT of critrole to catch up on… anyway, have some domestic softness and more of Caleb being a very dumb, very sweet cat.

Caleb stared up at the friendly people as they came into the warm sun plant room. They talked to the black-and-white, kind, nice Strong Soft Pale Lady that he had been getting to know. He tugged at the skirt of Blue Horn Tail Sweet Love Lady. She gave him a little pat and leaned down to talk to him. Caleb listened to the sound of her voice as she spoke, a content, soft smile spreading across his face as he listened. He liked the sound of her voice.

Green Tusk Tooth Handsome Competition said something else. Caleb frowned at him, not appreciating it. Couldn’t he see Blue Sweet Love was talking? Was he _challenging_ him?

Caleb growled.

Strong Soft Pale Lady looked saddened by what the others had said. Why was she sad?

Suddenly, Strong Soft Pale Lady approached him, talking to him too. Caleb blinked at her, listening to her soft, husky voice… then she went to scoop him up and he hesitated, scooting back. She paused… then she talked to him again, even quieter and sweeter. Caleb cocked his head. 

She wasn’t going to hurt him? It was safe? Well… okay...

Strong Soft Pale Lady tried to pick him up again. He let her this time, nervousness still twisting in his belly as he looked around at the rest of them.

Their voices were all sweet and reassuring, speaking to him tenderly. Brown Rough Tough Sister Muscle Friend Likes-Girls even gave him a little pat. Caleb was still too nervous about being held to enjoy it, but he didn’t resist going with them as they walked out of the soft warm plant room and out into bright sunshine. Don’t drop. Don’t fall. Don’t drop don’t drop.

Dark Handsome Smart Heavy Silver-Eyes Pointy-Ears joined the group. He took the hands of two others -- Small Brown Sister Mother Friend and Green Handsome Competition Friend -- and started to… talk to himself…?

* * *

Essek opened his eyes, shimmering pure white. **_“Rosohna.”_ **

His mouth twisted slightly in distaste as he added one other word, his voice loaded with arcane power. **_“The Xhorhaus.”_ **

The pits dropped out of all of their stomachs as arcane claws seized their bodies and sent them spiraling into a whirling storm of matter, pushed like a needle through the fabric of space itself. Their bodies smeared into a single beam of light, crossing the sea, across the continent of Wildemount, diving across the Ashkeeper Peaks in a matter of seconds…

They landed in front of the Xhorhaus. 

Caleb _screamed. “AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!_ A-AH! AHH--!”

“W-Whoah, whoah! H-Hey…!” Yasha reassured him. She quickly tightened her grip on him as he tried valiantly to wriggle free, hurried stroking his back. “Shhhhhh shhhh… hey… It’s okay, little guy…!”

Immediately, all the others were by her side, gently touching Caleb in some way.

“It’s okay, Cayleb…!”

“Calm down, buddy. We’re home, we’re home…”

“You’re safe, Caleb! I promise-- hey, look at me! You’re safe…” Veth whispered, holding his hand.

Caleb stared at them all, trembling like a leaf, but slowly, he calmed down. His fingers tightened around Veth as he twisted in Yasha’s arms. He frantically took in their new surroundings… and finally, they all saw him relax, his eyes glazing back over with confused acceptance.

Fjord -- however -- just sighed wearily and shook his head, walking up to the Xhorhaus. It was as beautiful as the day that they had arrived; a two-story mansion paneled in vermaloc wood, painted a dark maroon color with a pale stone foundation. The roofing was dark, near-black clay tiling with a single balcony on the second floor. A large oak tree grew from the third-story tower, spreading its protective branches and soft lights over the rest of the house. Two stained-glass windows twinkled in silvers and blues and chips of rainbow light, glowing like beacons in the forever twilight that colored a Xhorhasian sky.

Fjord unlocked the door and opened it, waving their little party inside. “Alright. Come on. Baths and then bed. We need to sleep before… tomorrow…” he muttered.

Yasha walked in first. In her arms, Fjord watched Caleb’s eyes get rounder and rounder as she approached the big house, the wizard shrinking in on himself smaller and smaller, until he was little more than a ball of nerves in Yasha’s hold as she crossed the threshold. “Shhhh, it’s okay…” Yasha whispered to him gently. She patted his back. “It’s just a house...”

Caleb made an unhappy sound.

The others filed in after her. Fjord looked after them for a moment, then turned back to Essek. “Thank you,” he murmured honestly. “May we do this one more time in the morning? Like we discussed?”

Essek nodded, brows furrowed. “Yes. We can…”

He trailed off, accidentally meeting Caleb’s eyes from over Yasha’s shoulder. “Yes,” he replied quietly, conviction in his silver eyes. “Eight o’clock?”

“Eight o’clock.”

* * *

Caleb watched with wide eyes as Green Handsome Competition walked into the same room -- this incomprehensible blur of white and stone and color and shapes -- and _closed the_ ** _wall_** behind him.

“Ah!” he yelled, scrambling out of Strong Pale Lady’s arms. She made a worried sound after him, but there were more important things to worry about!! Dark Handsome Silver-Eyes Pointy-Ears was trapped in the dark outside! He couldn’t see him! 

He slapped at the brown wall, hoping it would open again. “Ah! Ah!!”

Brown Sister Mother Friend was talking to him gently… soft and… slow? 

Caleb looked down at her uncertainly, then back up at the wall. She didn’t _seem_ worried. Was Dark Handsome Silver-Eyes Pointy-Ears okay? They were friends. He had to be okay if she wasn’t worried, right…?

......Why was he standing up?

Why was he worried again…?

Caleb frowned, then sat down right where he was, staring at the brown wall and trying to remember why he was there. After a moment, he shrugged it off and happened to look up at the ceiling.

Ohhh. Stone. Lots of stone.

Wood! Color! People and shiny things on the walls. It was cold in here.

Caleb grunted unhappily and pulled Warm Soft Sister Mother Friend into his lap, hugging her and trying to leech off her body heat.

* * *

“Awwwwww! He _loves_ me…!” Veth leaned back into Caleb’s hold, rubbing his hands gently. He just continued to stare at the paintings on the walls, like he expected them to talk to him. “I love you too, Caleb!”

“Come on, Caleb. You can’t sit in front of the door…” Yasha murmured. 

She picked their oblivious wizard up and carried him upstairs. “Time for a bath. Jester, Veth—? Or… anybody. Will anybody help me give him a…?”

Jester nodded and hurried upstairs. “Yeah! I’ll help!”

“Right behind you!” Veth exclaimed, hurrying after the tiefling and aasimar.

* * *

Caleb hung in strong arms, eyes round as he looked around. More walls passed him. More shiny boxes and stretches of color. They were walking…

Pale Soft Strong Lady approached a wall. 

She touched it, and there was a click, and it _opened?!_

Caleb scrambled in surprise as a whole other space appeared like _magic_ behind the opened wall. This was strange! And _fascinating!_ He stared at the open wall as they passed it, for the briefest second trying to understand how this magic worked… before he forgot what he was doing. He peered around the new space instead. The air was hotter and wetter in here. There were tiny pools and ponds. The water steamed. Fog stretched over the stone ceiling. Had they walked back to the island? Where were they?

The wall closed behind them. It sealed him, Pale Soft Strong Lady, Blue Sweet Love, and Brown Mother Friend into the room.

Caleb yelled softly in distress, unsure of how they were going to get out.

* * *

“Aaaaaah…”

“Shhhh…” Yasha murmured, setting the fretful redhead down on the edge of the tub. She offered him one of the baubles in her dreadlocks to play with. “There you go, Caleb… Look. It’s shiny.”

Caleb was immediately distracted. He accepted it, staring at the silver with wide eyes as Yasha gently started to peel off the soft poncho that had covered his body; Veth covered her eyes politely. After a moment of staring, Jester sheepishly followed Veth’s lead -- more out of consideration for Caleb than any actual embarrassment. They had all seen each other naked! This just felt… a little more _vulnerable._

Yasha lowered him into the bath... then tensed.

Jester heard Yasha make a soft, angry sound. She uncovered her eyes. “What?”

Yasha scowled darkly. 

Jester covered her mouth. “Oh…”

In the wake of Raise Dead, his body had seemed beautifully well preserved. His skin had been changed to a smooth, soft ivory with powders and whispered, barely-magical words. Caduceus had blessed his corpse with an illusion of peace. But as the hot water of the spa washed over his skin… the powders and grave magic began to dissipate. 

Dark, blooming bruises -- stark against his pale skin -- began to show. The skin on his face began to discolor into black and blue and the plum-colored, reddish-maroon of broken capillaries. Even his hands and forearms were starting to turn deep, ugly purples in places. Bruises, around defensive wounds. He had tried to shield his face with his hands. A glancing blow had bounced off his forearm -- maybe breaking it -- and the next blow had caught him across the eye. Several sealed scars marred his forehead and extended into his hairline.

Jester could see almost precisely where he had been struck. Again. And again, and again… and _again._

* * *

Caleb looked down at his hands. Oh… colors. Pretty colors.

He splashed in the water, marveling at the sparkle over the ripples. “Ah!” he declared. He leaned down, gazing through the warping, rippling barrier between his eyes and his fingers, watching the purple colors shift and change. 

* * *

There was a moment of quiet. None of the women said anything.

Finally, Jester broke the silence. “L-Let’s give him a bubble bath!” she declared, hurrying over to their shelf of bath accessories. She uncorked a big pink glass bottle and poured a big dollop of liquid into Caleb’s bath.

Yasha’s expression softened slightly, even though the anger still lingered in her blue and violet eyes. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

Veth stuck her hands into the bath, stirring up the bubbles. “It’s a _great_ idea!”

Caleb let out a surprised, excited sound as a mound of pink rainbow fluff swirled into existence. “Ah!”

He joined her, a little _too_ enthusiastically, and splashed Yasha with water and floral-scented bubbles. A laugh stole its way out of the barbarian’s chest as she leaned back, giggled softly, and wiped her face. Jester tossed away her cloak and outer layers. “Eyyyy, bubble fight!” she declared, and splashed Caleb back.

Caleb let out a bright, excited laugh and ducked underwater.

Jester’s smile cracked a little at the sight. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw him smile like that…

She whispered a few soft words of healing, quietly calling on the Traveler. Even though her gut twisted -- a sour taste of resentment resting at the back of her tongue -- a ball of shimmering pink light appeared in her palm… then dissolved into the form of a fat, fluffy bunny rabbit of pure light. Her Beacon of Hope glowed, cleaning its ears and wiggling its nose. The light filled the spa, and Yasha, Veth, Jester, and surely Caleb with its warm, happy energy. 

Caleb stared at the magical bunny with wide blue eyes, sweet and fascinated. He reached out, ever so gingerly…

“It’s okay. You can pet it,” Jester whispered with a soft smile. 

Those wary blue eyes stared at her… and finally, he touched the soft, jello-like glove of fey-made radiance. Jester reached out, gently brushing her fingers across Caleb’s face and wiping his bruises away with her thumbs.

* * *

Caleb’s pain and exhaustion slowly eased, leaving him warm and tingly with every touch. “Mm…”

He sunk deeper into his hot, bubbly bath, and forgot that there was ever a place outside the spa.

* * *

…

Meanwhile, upstairs in the War Room, the Rexxentrum team sat slumped on various couches. Covered in sweat, salt, bug bites — and in Fjord’s case — blood, piss, and his own vomit, they listened to the muffled laughter and splashes from below.

“...Why couldn’t that be me in there…?” Beau grumbled, staring up at the ceiling. “Is it shitty to say I wish I was the one that was Feebleminded?”

“Beau.”

“I know, I know. Just… getting bathed by those three? Seems like a pretty fair trade.”

“Beau.”

“Okay, okay...” Beau muttered. She sighed crossly and sat up. “Anyway, we gonna talk about our approach?”

Fjord cleared his throat, rubbing his eyes. “I— Yeah. Yeah, we should.”

He took a breath and sat up too. “Okay,” he muttered, pointing at her. “You and I and Jester were the only ones to see her up close. Us two were the only ones to hear her name, though. You sure you don’t remember what she said?”

“Fuck, man… we were taking names all day from people arriving. I wasn’t really paying attention when she said her name. She was just, y’know, Arrival Number 182. The only reason I remember her was because she obviously used magic.”

“If she had magic…” Caduceus observed. “Why did she carry a mace?”

“Anyone can _carry_ a weapon. A mace is a pretty goddamn simple weapon,” Beau countered dully. “Anyone could kill somebody with a mace if they could get ‘em pinned down.”

“But… if she was a powerful enough spellcaster to cast a spell like _Feeblemind_ \-- which is, you know, _fucking advanced magic_ according to Essek, why would she be carrying a mace?” Fjord asked the air, brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she just _fireball_ him or something if she’s a mage?”

Caduceus thought about it for a moment. “Because… it was personal.”

Fjord and Beau glanced at their cleric, listening to him as he continued thinking aloud. “I’ve taken care of quite a few murder victims in my time,” Caduceus murmured. “And you learn to… see the intent behind these killing blows. Dad called it… ‘the personal touch.’ Like... a mugging is going to look very different than an accident, and an accident is going to look -- again -- very different than if the killer has a personal vendetta. This woman -- whom I have no doubt possesses far more effective means of killing a person -- decided to shatter his mind, get on top of him when he was helpless, and hit him with a piece of _metal_ about twenty-two times. This was… _very_ personal.”

“What could Caleb have done to this woman to warrant that kinda grudge?” Beau muttered, thinking to herself. “He was a beggar and grifter for a while. I can’t imagine him doing anything insanely cruel to a stranger, not after all that time in the Sanitorium… and definitely not while Nott-- oh, you know, while _Veth_ was around.”

“So, this would’ve had to have been before that,” Fjord observed. “Before the Sanitorium.”

“Veth said they were running together for a couple months, but Caleb said he was alone for… years? A couple years? Maybe five?”

“Five. Yes.”

“So five years on the streets, and eleven years in the Sanitorium. Would’ve had to have been at _least_ sixteen years ago. Right before Caleb--” 

Beau cut herself off, abruptly remembering what company she was in. Shit. Fjord and Caduceus didn’t know what Caleb had done to his family. They just knew that he had been trained to hurt people, since he was a young teenager… Twelve or thirteen at the youngest, from how he had made it sound when he told them _all_ about it...

“-- got thrown into the Sanitorium,” Beau muttered. “So, minimum sixteen years ago. Maximum… maybe-- Fuck, how _old_ is Caleb?! How do we _not know_ how old he is?!”

Fjord shrugged. “I always presumed early thirties, maybe mid-thirties.”

“Ugh, fine. Let’s presume he’s thirty-four. Sixteen years ago, he was… eighteen. If we guess that the Assembly got ahold of him around thirteen and started training him to do bad shit, whatever Miss Feeblemind is mad about? It happened anywhere from sixteen to twenty-one _years_ ago. Who the _fuck_ holds a grudge that long?!”

“Plenty of people. Especially if it’s bad. Or if it reshaped her whole life,” Caduceus pointed out.

Fjord sighed wearily. “We’re not looking for motive. I don’t care about motive. We’re trying to find _her.”_

“In order to find her, we have to figure out who she is, where she came from. And in that case, motive could be a great help.”

“She just said she was from the Empire,” Beau muttered. “She could be from anywhere.”

“Certainly. But her power is another thing to factor in.”

Fjord sat up, his eyes alight. “You’re saying she would’ve had to learn that shit from somewhere!”

Caduceus nodded softly. “If she spent most of her life in the Empire, she reasonably would have begun her studies in the Empire. The Soltryce Academy student roster may be a good place to start looking.”

“And the Soltryce Academy only accepts, like, one student a fuckin’ year!” Beau exclaimed. “Even if we’re talkin’ that long ago, someone will remember _something!_ Even _if_ we only have a description! We can talk to-- fuck, what was his fuckin’ name… Oremid Hass! And the Cobalt Soul! They got a real shaky working relationship, but we might be able to get old student records through ‘em!”

“We’ll get a list of all the females that were students around that age!” Fjord exclaimed. Then he paused, frowning. “Wait. How old did she look?”

“Uhhhhh, fuckin’... same age as Caleb? A little older?”

Fjord nodded. “Okay, so, young women students at the Soltryce Academy, in their late teens and early twenties.”

Caduceus glanced at them both. “It would help if we had a date.”

“Shit, yeah… well, it’s 836 right now.” Beau counted on her fingers, squinting up at the ceiling. “So, young female students at the Soltryce Academy between the years 820 and 815. If we get that list, we can see who studied enchantments! There can’t be _that_ many. Right?!”

“It’s a good first step.” Fjord sighed, feeling a little bit of the tension drain from his shoulders. “It’s a better plan than we had an hour ago.”

Suddenly, feet came pattering up the stairs.

Jester came barging into the War Room. She stopped, turned, and gestured excitedly downwards. looking like she was just about to burst. “Come see!” she whispered. “Come see Cayleb!”

She pattered back down. 

Beau, Caduceus, and Fjord looked at each other, then groaned and grunted -- bones creaking -- as they all got up and followed her.

Downstairs they went, emerging into the foyer, following Jester at her bidding across the carpeted floors and into the kitchen. Warmth radiated from the stoked stove fire, blazing in the hearth…

Caleb -- warm and dry and dressed in comfortable, loose-fitting clothes -- was curled up beside the fire, halfway asleep. 

His glazed, sleepy blue eyes flickered up to the group as they entered. Only a little wary, but mostly tired. The bruises on his face and hands were faded, soft yellows and greens, as if weeks of healing had gone by, not hours. Tiny white blossoms were braised loosely into his red hair, almost glowing in the light of the fire; Frumpkin was curled up under his hands, a round, dozing loaf of spotted fur, at peace beside his master.

Yasha emerged behind them. “Are those my pants?” Beau asked her quietly, trying not to disturb him.

“Uh… y-yes. They are. I’m sorry, should I have asked? I just thought he would be more comfortable in looser fitting stuff--”

“N-No, no. It’s fine…”

“If it makes you feel better, that’s Fjord’s shirt,” Jester informed them.

Fjord looked at her in exhausted disbelief. “Uh, what?”

Caleb started to sit up, brows furrowed in concern at them all. “Mm…?”

Caleb let out a noise and crawled over to Fjord. He sat on his foot.

Fjord snorted. “Uhhh... good to see you too?”

He carefully wedged his toes out from under Caleb’s butt and stepped around him. Caleb scowled and followed, crawling back to Jester. “Why does he have bruises?” the half-orc asked Jester quietly. “I thought Caduceus fixed that.”

Jester’s smile flickered for a second. “W-Well, um… either way, I helped!”

Both of them startled as Caleb suddenly pushed at their knees, forcing a place for himself between them. He was practically sitting on both their feet, looking up at them both with an expectant scowl.

Jester giggled, cheeks pink. "I think he wants us to give him attention."

Fjord made a face. "Caleb _hates_ attention."

"I don't think he actually did," Jester hummed as she started combing her nails through Caleb's hair. She sat down on the floor. "I think he felt he wasn't _allowed_ attention. But honestly, he acts kinda… kinda…"

"Touch starved?" Yasha offered helpfully, voice quiet and sad. She sat down on the kitchen floor too. "I had always suspected…"

Caleb dropped his head into Jester’s lap and curled up on his side. He peeked up at her with his ocean-colored eyes… then up at Fjord.

He put his feet in Fjord’s lap and stared at him expectantly. 

Fjord sputtered. “U-Uh…”

Beau snorted at the sight as she settled in next to Yasha. "Oh my god. He's acting like a fuckin’ _cat.”_

"He wants Fjord to join in on the snuggles!" Jester chirped happily.

“Uhh—“

Caleb’s toes pressed against his crotch. The half orc jumped and scooted away. “WHOAH! Noooooooo. No. Bad. _Bad_ Caleb.”

Caleb stared at him, unimpressed. The others laughed as Fjord just huffed and got situated, making sure he had a gentle but _firm_ hold of Caleb's ankles in his lap.

Caduceus chuckled and went back upstairs. They heard him walking around over their heads for a moment… and then, the firbolg emerged from the foyer once more; this time, he was dragging blankets with him. 

Jester lit up as he laid them out. “Oh, Caduceus! That’s a wonderful idea! We’ll all sleep together!”

“You got any sleepytime tea?” Beau asked, already half asleep. Her cheek rested on Yasha’s arm; the barbarian woman flushed softly and put a supporting, muscular arm around her. “Mm…”

“I may have something. Baths first though. We all stink to high heaven…”

“Yeah, I guess…” Beau mumbled grouchily. She pried herself away from Yasha with a regretful sigh and got up. “I guess I’ll go next. _Alone._ By _myself.”_

“Do you… want company?” Yasha asked.

Beau’s brain stopped working for a minute. Finally, she processed what Yasha had said and cleared her throat. “Uh… sure. Yeah…” she mumbled, glancing at the pale, gorgeous, muscular woman. “I-I mean… only if you want to.”

Yasha gave her a little smile. “I want to…”

Fjord, Veth, Jester, and Caduceus exchanged looks. 

“I, uh… o-okay! What’re we waitin’ for then?” Beau exclaimed, her voice a little rougher than before. She rested her stick against the wall, rambling as Yasha got up. “Fuck. Sorry. Uh--”

Yasha scooped her up and carried their blushing monk upstairs.

A tiny grin stole its way across Jester’s lips as she watched them go. She happily petted a very confused, clueless Caleb. “Theyyyyyy’re goooooooonna haaaaaaave _sex!”_ she sang, her voice lilting excitedly.

Caduceus chuckled. “I’m going to go get more blankets,” he murmured, and left the kitchen.

Fjord sighed in exasperation, just looking down at Caleb. He was happy for them. He was. And it was natural to want to fuck out the tension, especially after a day like they had just had… 

“...Fjord?”

He glanced up at Veth. “Mm?”

“Something wrong?” the halfling woman asked, giving a very sleepy-looking Caleb rubs between his shoulder blades. “You look… I don’t know. A million miles away?”

Fjord frowned.

He just looked down at Caleb, who was starting to fall asleep in Jester’s lap. “I just think he’s going to be pissed.”

"He probably will be," Jester admitted softly. "But I just don't feel comfortable forcing him. I don't want to cause _more_ trauma and bad feelings. And if we cause trauma and bad feelings… he-- he’s so hard to read, you know? If we force it on him and he gets nightmares, I don’t know if we’ll _ever_ know…”

Fjord continued to gaze down at Caleb, his yellow eyes almost regretful. “I just… Yeah.”

Caleb opened his eyes, peering up at him. 

“I don’t want him to throw up those walls again, either,” the warlock muttered. “But I don’t--”

Suddenly, their wizard was climbing up into Fjord’s lap. 

The half orc immediately went still. “Oh god. What is he doing. Help. Please.”

Caleb snuggled gently into Fjord’s neck.

Veth gasped. “Ohhh, awwwwww!”

Fjord blinked. “...Oh. He’s just…”

“Mm…” Caleb muttered softly into that warm green skin. He put his hand on Fjord’s cheek and left it there.

Jester beamed at the display. She scooted closer, just to make sure Fjord didn't feel weird about it all. "He does that," she told them, smiling. "When I was upset earlier -- on the beach -- he tried to show me Frumpkin as a distraction, you know."

"Distraction from what?"

"Worry? Sadness?" She shrugged. "I think he can tell when we are upset and he does not like it. So, he tries to fix it."

Fjord sighed. After a moment, he finally relented and rubbed Caleb’s head. The wizard perked up, looking at the side of his face… then he immediately leaned into Fjord’s hand with a radiant smile, looking immensely pleased with himself.

“You’re a cute little shit when you’re like this,” Fjord muttered crossly. 

“Mm.”

“Shut up.” He scratched Caleb’s scalp. Caleb made a happy noise and leaned into the scritches.

Fjord watched his friend -- normally so closed off and introverted -- do this… thing. This sweet, soft thing that he would _never_ do if he were in his right mind. And, unbidden, one particular memory rose to the surface. Back when they got the Xhorhaus. Back when Fjord was still a different person. Still relying so much on the idea of Vandarin to keep him going… and fucking _Caleb_ had been the one to confront him about it.

_-Fjord walked in, closed the door, and turned, only to see a familiar wizard sitting patiently on his bed. He jumped instinctively, shoulders tensing. “G-God-- dammit…”_

_Caleb held up a hand. “Sorry.”_

_He had huffed in frustration and walked into his room. “Meant to put locks on this shit…”_

_“Sorry. I can help you out with that, if you wish…”_

_Stupid wizard, waiting in his room like a burglar. “What can I, uh, what can I do for ya?”_

_Caleb was quiet for a moment. He visibly considered the question… then took a deep breath, and looked at Fjord in the face. “Why have you been talking to us with a fake accent for months.”_

_“...I’m sorry?”_

_“I’ve heard you do it a few times. I’ve heard a… different voice come out of you.”_

_“‘A different voice.’”_

_“Ja, Fjord._ **_A different voice,”_ ** _Caleb repeated, quiet and patient._

_“I-I’m, uh, I’m afraid you got me a little… little lost.”_

_Caleb turned to face him even more head on. He interlaced his fingers, dropped them into his lap, and pinned him with a penetrating gaze. “I don’t think so. And I am speaking as one accomplished liar to another.”_

_Fjord eyed him. Caleb didn’t waver. The silence felt like it went on forever._

_Finally, the half-orc sighed and leaned against the wall. “What do you, uh, what do you want me to say here?” he drawled, still trying to stay casual._

_Caleb, however -- in all his eternal intensity -- just considered his words. He watched him for a moment, then quietly gestured at himself. “I’ve been holding onto my garbage for a long time… and you don’t know_ **_all_ ** _of it, and I am willing to tell you more...” he admitted, not missing a beat. “I would feel better…_ **_knowing…_ ** _who you_ **_are._ ** _Because I don’t trust that I do.”_

_He gave him an opportunity to speak. Fjord was looking down again, not meeting his eyes. He didn’t interrupt._

_“I will tell you more if you want. I will go_ **_first,”_ ** _Caleb offered, trying to tempt him. Goad him. Reward him. Trying to do_ **_something._ ** _“It will be easier for you, consider it a better trade. But… we have bound ourselves together… and I feel like I know this group… pretty well.” He fell silent for a moment, lashes lowered, as if savoring the aftertaste of his own words._

 _Finally, Caleb met his eyes again; golden yellow to intense blue. “I know Yasha better than you and she never fucking says_ **_anything.”_ **

_Fjord glanced at him, trying to gauge his expression._

_He looked away again, studying a knot in the floorboards. Goddamn… fuckin’ guy was impossible to read._

_“What, do you think we’re going to chase you out of here? Run you off?”_

**_Fuck. Stop looking at me like that._ **

_“I find it hard to believe that anything you tell me -- maybe I’m wrong -- would be worse than anything inside_ **_my_ ** _head.”_

_Fjord took a deep breath, discomfort running through his veins like blood as Caleb’s words washed over him like fire. He scratched his inner arm and straightened up, trying to find the right words. “No…” he mumbled, only managing to look as high as Caleb’s collarbones. “No, I don’t think that’s it at all… Nah...”_

_He braced himself, searching for the words even as he spoke to Caleb, trying to use his hands to express the speech that eluded him. “It is not in me to… speak about myself. I-It appears… the same is true for you?”_

_Fjord dared to glance up. Caleb was just staring at him with those_ **_fucking eyes_ ** _of his, staring all the way into his soul._

_Fjord looked back down. “Um…”_

_All the words had been sucked out of his brain. Shit._ **_Stop looking at me._ ** _“I-I… I found myself…” he tried to continue, struggling a bit,_ **_“reinvented,_ ** _when I woke up on that shore. When I wake up at night, spittin’ up water, it’s-- reminders of a time… when the rest of my life no longer mattered, didn’t_ **_apply..._ ** _I didn’t care for that life. Didn’t care for me. I… prefer to… leave it in the past. It’s not that I’m_ **_hiding_ ** _anything from you, I...”_

 _He looked at Caleb, into those damn_ **_cruel_ ** _and_ **_discerning_ ** _eyes._

_He quickly gazed back at the floor… then took a deep, deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t wanna bring… things from my old life into this one. I can sound like… many people. Do many things.”_

_“Ja, but it’s just the one I’ve heard. When you think no one is listening… Is that your past?”_

_Fjord was silent for a long moment… and finally, he nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah. It is.”_

_He finally met Caleb’s gaze, not hiding anything anymore. The fucking guy was a lie detector. The wizard had the nerve to look_ **_satisfied,_ ** _almost_ **_amused_ ** _as he smiled bitterly. “I have dealt heavily with my past…” he told Fjord. “And I worry now more than ever that it is nipping at my heels. Do you have worries like that? Do you feel… like your past will come back to bite you? Or is it just painful and you wish to shun it?”_

_Fjord couldn’t look at him._

_“Because that is the main_ **_reason_ ** _I ask. This is our…_ **_family_ ** _now. And we are looking out for each other. And I have told you all… something I am_ **_very_ ** _ashamed of. Because I_ **_worry_ ** _about you all. And maybe I just want to know that you… are not worried about something like that as well. I want to know what is at my back.”-_

Caleb was part of this family. Caleb was his friend.

He would have Caleb’s back. He would be the best that he could possibly be. No matter what their wizard had done in his past, even if Caleb didn’t know what was happening or that it was happening _at all,_ Fjord would have his back.

 _-“...You are right. You have… been very forthcoming. I admire that. Especially given what you’ve told us. There is nothing… that_ **_nips at my heels_ ** _or is at my back that is a danger to anyone else in this group. I appreciate you wanting to know more.”_

 _Fjord almost smiled, bittersweet, ducking his head instinctively to hide it. “I almost_ **_resent_ ** _you for… telling us as much as you have. Anyone for… sharing their pain. It seems like the last thing I would ever wanna do. And to see it done with such… conviction? Resistance?”_

_He hesitated, licking his suddenly dry lips. “I-I’ll… try.”_

_Caleb looked at him imploringly._

_Fjord shook his head to himself. “Give me… Give me some time. I-I do not want to share this with the group. I feel like sometimes you hold onto things that make you who you are and if you lose those things… you can fall free.”_

_There was pain in Caleb’s eyes. “I have had those same thoughts… for a_ **_long_ ** _time.”-_

So this was what falling free looked like. Empty eyes.

 _-That conviction was like hot steel, razor sharp on Caleb’s voice. “We can_ **_remake_ ** _ourselves… into something better.”-_

Fjord wanted to be something better. Even now, he found pieces in himself that wanted to do something small to Caleb. Something barely even mean, just a pinch or a smack, to see how he would react. A tiny bit of payback for the times that he had felt backed into a corner, or humbled by Caleb’s intelligence or intensity. 

And that… _that_ was cruel. It was cruel to think about getting back at him -- even in the smallest of ways -- while Caleb was utterly helpless.

It made him fucking angry.

- _“I find myself on my heels in this room-- please. Understand that I’m not trying to be deceptive. Just let me figure out… how the fuck to say it and let me_ **_come_ ** _to_ **_you_ ** _and I will feel less like I’ve been… Less like I’ve had something taken from me. Let me… find a way to tell you. Please.”_

_Caleb took a deep breath, thinking about it. “Ahm…”_

_He thought about it… then, motionless, he seemed to come to a conclusion. “Alright. That’s fair…”-_

Fjord was looking at him now. Caleb’s eyes were on the floor, on his collarbones, analyzing the kitchen around him. It was rare that he could get Caleb’s eyes down, of all people, and when they did go down around him they went down because their owner was thinking. Lost in thought. It was frustrating. Admirable. Fucking stubborn of him.

 _-Finally, Caleb spoke. “The only reason that the people in this group know anything about me is because I-- I’m…_ **_crazy.”-_ **

Fjord gripped Caleb’s hair at the roots, his eyes darkening. The redhead’s pale, dumb, vacant eyes flickered over his face. Even feebleminded… he wasn’t intimidated of him in the least. Even as Fjord moved in closer, searing yellow eyes fixed on Caleb’s.

It would be so _easy_ to scare him. It would be so _easy_ to hurt him like this. He couldn’t imagine what it might have been like when he was like this, back at a place like the Sanitorium in Rexxentrum. Alone. Without friends. Continually confused and scared, without refuge or memory or solace from his surroundings, with unsympathetic _strangers._ Only so-called caretakers who would bind him up tight and dismiss his symptoms as insanity. For over a _decade..._

_-“I… actually don’t think you’re crazy. You’re one of the more put-together people I know.”_

_Caleb let out a soft, mirthless breath of a laugh at that._

_Fjord knew it was a sarcastic laugh, but he still counted it as an accomplishment. He straightened up, a little proudly, and met Caleb’s gaze. “At least that’s what I see. It’s what you show,” he murmured. “Thank you. For… I was going to say ‘caring.’”_

_“That’s accurate,” Caleb murmured sharply. He reached out. “Gimme your hand.”_

_Fjord didn’t think about it. He just obeyed. Caleb gripped his hand -- slender, pale fingers orchestrated around his callused green one -- and maybe Fjord had imagined it. Maybe he hadn’t. But he could’ve sworn there was something deeper there, stirring in his core as he felt their blood oath scars touch in the open. It felt… private. Intimate._

_Caleb’s voice was trembling audibly when he tried to speak again. “I-I… I am not a good person, but we are friends. We_ **_are_ ** _f-friends…”_

_Fjord looked into his face, honest for the first time in a long time. “We are friends,” he murmured steadily._

_Something else -- like a spark -- passed between them. For a brief moment, it was as if their magics intertwined, heating the skin between their palms. Fire and water had touched, steam briefly clouding the cold air around their joined hands._

_“...Alright. To be continued.”_

_Their hands parted. The steam dissipated.-_

Fjord gripped Caleb’s face, staring into his eyes. Those vacant, mildly curious, _tired_ blue eyes were haunting. Haunting in a way that he couldn’t describe, invoking a wild desperation deep in his core. In the corner of his eye, he saw Veth reach out worriedly -- no doubt concerned that his behavior would make Caleb nervous -- but Jester’s hand gently stopped her. Jester watched them, not attempting to interfere. Why wasn’t she interfering? Why didn’t she slam a Greater Restoration into him right now?! Why were they all being _cowards?!_ Wasn’t it worth a little struggle to fucking _get Caleb back?!_

“If you’re in there…” Fjord heard himself whisper. “Give me a sign…”

He closed his eyes and _beseeched_ the Wildmother. He tried to do what he _knew_ he couldn’t. He tried to cast Greater Restoration. He knew he didn’t have the knowledge. He knew he didn’t have the faith. He didn’t even have the components. But he _tried._ For seconds -- for minutes -- he tried the hardest that he _possibly_ could. His heart aching, his brain struggling on a nearly sleepless night before, he just _tried._

It was all he could _fucking do…_

Finally, Fjord took a deep, shaky breath, and opened his eyes.

Caleb stared back at him. The only change he could see was that Caleb looked quietly worried now.

Fjord let him go and swore softly under his breath. “Fucking… god dammit…!” he hissed, running his hands through his hair. He _knew_ it wouldn’t work. So why did it _hurt_ so much…?

* * *

Green Handsome Friend was worried. He was angry. He was sad.

Why was he so angry? Why was he so sad?

Caleb mumbled something soft in distress and wrapped his arms around his friend. He held him gently, hoping that it would help. Hoping that it would make him happy… but it just made Green Sad Angry Sweet Friend tremble and shake. Caleb felt him hug him back.

Warm salt water seeped into his shirt. Friend was leaking?! Love! Hurt! Oh no! What was _wrong?_

Caleb squeezed his friend as tight as he could bear with his weakened, aching arms, mumbling worried sounds. Green Sad Angry Sweet Love dug into him tighter, shaking, hiding his face in his shoulder. His fingers started to hurt Caleb’s ribs a little bit… but Caleb didn’t shy away. Friend Love needed him. He would gladly suffer through a Little Hurt. He had felt worse.

Right? He had felt a worse Hurt? Now he couldn’t remember…

Wait.

…Where was he?

He was hugging Green Tusks Sad Sweet Love. His friend love was starting to calm down. He must have done something nice… right?

Caleb’s face softened. He smiled, nuzzled into Fjord’s shoulder, and fell back to sleep.

* * *


	7. Closed Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau and Yasha talk about relationships, Fjord and Jester have a moment during the witching hour, and Emmeline finally finds herself face to face with Astrid.

Beau popped up for air. “Phew!”

Yasha exhaled, looking a little dazed and disheveled as the monk wriggled up to lay next to her. They were both still warm from the bath, tangled in Yasha’s sheets and one other. For a long minute, the barbarian woman just stared up at the ceiling, breathing hard. “Uh… wow…”

Beau glanced at her. “You, uh… you good?”

“Y-Yeah. Good. Uh. Very. Very good. It’s, um… it’s— Long—“

“Good longtime?” Beau teased.

“Y-Yeah. Good longtime…” Yasha echoed breathlessly. She chuckled softly, gazing up at the ceiling with a gentler expression.

Beau watched her as the minutes ticked by, the postcoital pleasure slowly easing into quiet…

“—So, um.”

“Yeah.”

Beau perked up. “Yeah?”

Yasha looked at her with wide eyes. “What?”

Beau wilted slightly. “What?”

“Uh!”

“Sorry.”

“N-No, don’t be sorry! I just—“

“I just presumed that you, uh— because—“

“I liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” Yasha confessed softly. A deep pink flush spread across her cheeks, bashfulness and a little embarrassment glimmering in her blue and violet eyes as she fiddled with the sheets. “I just… haven’t done that— or, had that… in a long time…”

Beau shifted in bed, trying to look cool. “Yeah. Totally.”

She clenched a fist victoriously to herself. _Fuck yeah._

“You, um—“

Beau perked up again, eyes alight. “Yeah?”

Yasha hesitated… then finally looked up at her. “You… make me happy,” she murmured, her voice soft and raw as she met Beau’s eyes.

Beau’s face went utterly red.

“O-Oh…” she mumbled. She looked down at her hands, suddenly _horribly_ self conscious.

Yasha opened her mouth, closed it, and glanced worriedly at her new girlfriend. “Did… Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry…”

“I— No! No!” Beau sputtered awkwardly, nestling deeper into the bed. “No, I’ve just— Y’know. Nobody’s ever… _told me_ shit like that before…”

“Oh no, did I make it weird…?”

“No, you’re good! Y-You’re great! You’re a— You’re amazing, Yasha.”

Yasha blushed awkwardly. “Thank you…”

They stayed where they were, fiddling their fingers in the sheets and looking around. Beau chewed on the inside of her cheek, internally _swearing_ to herself as she struggled to find _words._ For fuck’s sake, they had just run upstairs and taken a bath together and jumped each other’s bones! With Keg and Reani, it had been different. Reani had been, uh, _surprisingly generous._ Keg was a goddamn fucking _beast_ in bed. They had both kinda… _understood_ that it was a one-night stand and they had enjoyed it! They had walked right out on good terms afterwards! 

But _Yasha._ _Yasha isn’t a one-night stand! I wanna fuckin’_ **_date_ ** _Yasha!_ But Yasha had had a wife! Yasha was a _member of the Nein!_ There were— complications? Sort of?? 

Yasha had just said _she made her happy._

It made the bottom of Beau’s stomach drop out. It made it hard to think. It made it hard to _breathe._ She had spent so _long_ being The Fuck Up growing up. Being the fuck up at the Cobalt Soul. She had been getting better. But the _idea_ that she could make someone _happy_ , let alone someone absolutely _fucking mind blowing_ like _fucking Yasha_ —!

Beau’s eyes hardened. She rolled over to glare intently down at Yasha.

“You blow my fucking mind,” she told her, her voice deep and rough. “Every goddamn day.”

The muscular woman stared up at her, lips parted in surprise, subconsciously holding the sheets up to her chest. _“Oh,”_ Yasha whispered breathlessly.

“I want to do right by you. I want to _protect_ your ass. I want to kick fuckin’ ass with _you_ every _time_ I kick someone’s fuckin’ ass. Which is like… _so_ often. I want to—“ Beau shifted, supporting her weight on one elbow and turning to look at Yasha, raw determination glaring in her eyes as she gestured almost violently at her girlfriend. “You’re _so_ fuckin’ hot. Like, all the time! I _like_ you! I _really_ fuckin’ like you. And not just ‘cuz you’re gorgeous.”

“Oh, I’m n-not… Really? I’m—“

“Shut up! You’re hot! You’re _so hot!”_ Beau whined. She collapsed onto her back, throwing her arms up into the air. “Everybody we _meet_ thinks you’re hot! You’re _fuckin’ sweet._ You _like flowers_ and you can break a guy’s spine over your knee!! You’re the full _package,_ Yasha. I wouldn’t be happy goin’ into the belly of the beast with anybody else!”

Yasha was bright red at that point. She hesitated, pulling the blankets up to her mouth as Beau caught her breath.

The monk sighed… then frowned, realizing that there were likely more tactful ways to say what she had. “I— sorry. Look, what I mean is—“

“I like you too,” Yasha whispered.

Beau stared up at her.

Yasha ducked her head, eyes soft and distant. “I just… haven’t been part of a relationship. In a while,” she murmured. “But I’d like to try… with you. I think you’re sort of… cool.”

_Cool. Cool. Yasha thinks I’m cool. Fuck. Keep it together._

“Uh huh?” Beau prompted. Her voice pitched painfully high.

The pale, strong woman smiled to herself and nodded. “I sometimes… I think too much. You know…?”

“Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah. Totally. I think a lot too.” Beau cleared her throat, massaging her jaw. “What, um… what about?”

“What, like— right now?”

“Yeah! Sure!”

“Well… I’m thinking a lot about you,” Yasha admitted quietly. “Been doing a lot of that… And— I dunno… I think I’ll be doing a lot _more_ of that now. But… I’m thinking about Caleb too.”

“...Uhhhh—“

“N-Not like that! No way!”

“No no no no, yeah! No! Just—“

“I didn’t—“

“—weird context.”

“Yeah. No. Uh.” Yasha tucked a rogue lock of hair behind her ear, thoroughly flustered by Beau’s full attention. “Just… I was thinking about… something that he said a couple days ago. Before all this. He said, um— to… let myself have some happiness… and… _you_ make me happy… I think he’d be really happy for us…”

“He better fuckin’ be…” Beau muttered, red in the face. 

She sighed and folded her arms, eyes wandering over the ceiling. “Was it kinda fucked up that we just ran up here and banged, while he’s sittin’ down there just short of brain dead?”

“I mean… _I_ didn’t mind.”

“Well thank god. But I mean—“ Beau trailed off, making a vague gesture at the ceiling.

Yasha nodded, brows furrowed. “Yeah… No, I understand what you mean…”

Both women sighed in unison, staring up at the stones.

Beau was quiet for what felt like a long time, listening to the gears turn in Yasha’s head. “Is it weird that I miss him?” she asked weakly. “He’s not even gone. But he’s… gone. It just makes you wonder… is that even _him_ anymore?”

Yasha’s brows furrowed in confusion. She turned her head to look at Beau.

Her girlfriend’s eyes on her now, Beau hurried to explain herself, rolling over to face Yasha and talking with her hands as she attempted valiantly to not be distracted by her magnificent tits. “I mean— he doesn’t remember _anything._ All he knows is that we’re his friends. How much would you bet that he doesn’t even know our _names?_ A-And if he doesn’t remember the shit from his life? His parents? His— If he doesn’t remember his own formative experiences, is he Caleb? Or is he just… something else?”

Yasha was quiet for a long moment… then she met Beau’s eyes. “What about his parents?” she whispered softly.

Beau hesitated.

She considered it all… and sighed, brows scrunched together. She rubbed her forehead, groaning softly and finally returning the soft gaze. “Can I tell you something? Private? It’s just— Technically I shouldn’t be telling you. But… considering we’re about to do a fuckin’ deep dive into Caleb’s past, I’d rather you know from me than if you just _happened_ to find out from some _rando…”_

“Caleb killed his whole family.”

Beau stiffened, abruptly feeling like she had been dunked into an ice bath. She stared at Yasha.

Yasha gave her a halfhearted little smile. “I know.”

“But— Did he tell you?”

“No, Veth did…” Yasha confessed awkwardly, brushing her hair over one shoulder.

“Wait, Veth?! Fuckin’ _when?”_

“I dunno… we were on watch together a few months ago and we were talking about dumb stuff? And it just… kinda came up? She tried to back out of it, but… then she backed back into it. She said it’s not something that he likes to talk about. I promised I wouldn’t tell…”

Beau threw her hands up and snorted, rolling her eyes. “Fuckin’ of course.”

“Mm…”

Yasha sighed… then glanced curiously up at Beau. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, anything,” the monk replied honestly, still a little exasperated by the news of Veth’s loose lips.

“Do you know why he did it?”

That made Beau pause. She hesitated, making a reluctant noise. “I…”

“If you don’t know or you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay! I just… I… I don’t really know what it’s like to have a mom and dad. Not like how you guys do…” Yasha admitted, turning her eyes back to the ceiling. “It’s hard to imagine only one or two people raising you your whole life. And… I can’t imagine why he would _want_ to _kill_ the people that _raised_ him. Were they… bad people? Did they hurt him?”

“I—“

“I mean, did they _deserve_ it?”

Beau’s expression darkened.. then saddened. “No,” she murmured. “They didn’t.”

“Then… why did he do it?” Yasha whispered.

“...You remember that… fucking shitsack we met in Rexxentrum?” Beau replied, her voice dark and rough. “Trent Ikithon? He kept talking to you. Super slimy around Caleb…”

Yasha made a face, uncertainty and disgust creeping over her face. “Yeah. I remember him.”

“He… conditioned Caleb. Then he manipulated his memory. Caleb was a fuckin’ _kid,_ he— he— Trent, _Ikithon,_ fuckin’ Ikithon…”

Beau had to take a deep, steadying breath, thinking of the crashing ocean waves to keep her calm. Yasha watched her, eyes dark with an unhappy understanding. “He made Caleb think his parents were revolutionaries. Testing his loyalties. And… loyalty won out,” she whispered. “He set the house on fire. To _graduate._ He heard ‘em screaming… and he went nuts. That’s how he landed in that Sanitorium place that we saw. For eleven _years.”_

“Oh my god…”

Beau coughed a mirthless laugh, leaning her head back so that her tears would soak back up into their ducts. _“Yeah._ It’s seriously _fucked…_ A-And now they sent somebody to _fucking break him open again?!_ Haven’t they fucking _done enough?!_ Yeah! Yeah, he fucked up. He fucked up about as much as a fuckin’ guy can fuck up, but it _wasn’t his fuckin’ fault!_ It was that— taint-stain _Ikithon_ and his _fucking_ Assembly…”

“Hey…”

“And now we don’t even know if the Caleb we got back after his resurrection even _counts_ as our Caleb! Did they still— D-Did they still fuckin’ kill him?! After smashing his head in and breaking his personality and smashing those stupid fuckin’ big magic brains of his, what if Jester Greater-Restorations him and he’s not even fuckin’ Caleb anymore?!”

“Beau…” Yasha whispered, reaching out for her.

“What if we never get him _back?!_ Why can’t I remember _that fucking bitch’s name,_ Yasha?! She looked Fjord and me in the eyes and she _said it_ to my _face_ and I can’t even _fucking—!”_

“Beau…” 

Yasha wordlessly pulled her in, holding her tight. 

Beau growled fiercely through her tears, fingers digging into Yasha’s strong back. “Fuck…” she whispered, guttural through her tears. Embarrassment and anger boiled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, this is so _fucking—“_

“It’s not your fault, either… It’s not your fault…”

Yasha stroked her hair gently, her careful touches utterly at odds with the murderous look in her eyes. The Cerberus Assembly had hurt Caleb. And they had made her girlfriend _cry._

Someone was going to _die._

…

It was a grey afternoon in Rexxentrum, like any other.

The door to 31st Woadstone Manor clicked open. 

A young footman -- a male halfling -- looked up at the woman on the doorstep. “Hello? May I help you?”

Emmeline smiled effortlessly, leaning into her act. Disguised through Seeming as a tall, redheaded woman, she projected the image of a clean, put-together young courier. Her hair was pulled into a spotless bun, her long but practical black skirts swishing against the front stoop. “Hello, sir! And who might you be?”

“A simple butler, miss. Do you have a package?”

“A few documents, actually, that need to be signed on a matter of inheritance. I am a courier from the offices of Lavorre, Nott, and Brave in Zedash. Your mistress Astrid’s letter fell through the cracks, unfortunately, but better late than never. Is she home?”

“Ah-- She is out at the moment. May I see the letter?”

“Certainly.” Emmeline handed him the worn letter, waiting patiently and looking around as a young courier would. 

The halfling read the letter, examining it closely... Then, finally, he nodded impartially and stepped aside. “Please, come in,” he told her as he led her inside. Emmeline took a look at the sparse, practical interior, feigning interest. “As I said, she is out at the moment, but you are welcome to wait in this room until she returns. 

“I would be happy to. Is there any way I could have tea while I wait? It has been quite a long road from Zedash.”

“Certainly. How do you like your tea?”

“Three sugars, please. Thank you.” Emmeline gave him a charming smile as she sat, gazing around the interior of the waiting room. She listened to the light footsteps of the halfling patter off towards the kitchen…

And then her smile dropped.

Emmeline sighed deeply, rubbing her illusioned face and holding her cracked pieces together with the exhaustion that came with years of practice. _Just a little further. Take one step. Then another. Every step brings you closer to your goal, even if it’s a hundred miles away… Okay… Okay._

She reached into her bag, forcing her trembling fingers to obey her as she pulled out a book. She rested her back against the chair and settled in to wait.

...

Fjord held Caleb’s sleeping body close to his chest. The half-orc’s eyes were dull, sleepless. His empty, gurgling stomach told him it was late, maybe even _early_ at this point; his rational mind told him that he _had_ to sleep. They were going to Rexxentrum in the morning.

Caleb stirred against his chest. Immediately, Fjord relaxed, trying his best to make sure that he didn’t wake up. He felt him shift softly in his sleep, half rolling over… then their wizard relaxed back into his side.

Fjord grumbled quietly and rolled his eyes, a hand -- subconsciously and begrudgingly -- rubbing Caleb’s back to soothe him back to sleep.

His eyes wandered over his friends in the ghostly, haunting orange glow of the faded kitchen hearth. Veth was snoring somewhere nearby, hugging a pillow. Caduceus was rolled up like a burrito near the fire, a peaceful look on his long face.

Jester was laying in a sprawled heap in her own nest of blankets… 

Were her eyes open? He could see the faintest glimmer of wet eyes in his darkvision.

“...Hey,” Fjord whispered.

Jester didn’t respond for a moment… then she slowly turned her head. Her blue hair was rumbled against the blankets, bunched and dried into curls after her bath. She gave him the faintest, most tired smile he could ever remember. “Hey…” she whispered back, barely louder than an exhale in the warm, flame-touched shadows. “You’re still awake…?”

“Can’t sleep…” Fjord confessed softly.

Jester turned onto her side, her eyelids so heavy, and yet they refused to close. “Meeeeeeee neither…”

The half-orc couldn’t help but feel a twinge of concern in his chest. It wasn’t often that they saw her distraught. At _all._

“...That was quite an announcement,” he mumbled.

Jester peered at him. “Huh…?”

“Back on the island…” he clarified softly, half unconscious, his mind hazy. Swimming in the purgatory of comfort and the ghosts of the last few days. “You told them all to go ‘jerk off to some other shitty god.’ I thought the whole… _Moonweaver plot_ was to help them feel okay about the whole thing.”

Jester swallowed a lump in her throat, blinking glassy eyes. “I don’t know…”

Fjord waited for her to continue.

Minutes passed.

He frowned in puzzlement and peered over at her. “Jester?”

Thick trails of tears were sliding down her cheeks, reflecting a sharp, burning, glassy orange against the embers.

_Shit…_

Fjord frowned, his brain numbed from insomnia, and gently shook Caleb. “Hey...” he whispered. “Hey.”

Jester noticed, startled, and immediately sat up. She sniffed and wiped at her cheeks. “No no no no no no, Fjord, don’t wake him up…! He needs to sleeeeep…”

Caleb made an unhappy noise and squinted up at Fjord, disheveled and sleepy.

Fjord pointed him in Jester’s direction. “Hey. Look at that,” he whispered. “Go cheer her up.”

Caleb blinked drowsily, half conscious… then shuffled over to Jester and threw his arms around her shoulders. She yelped -- in more surprise than anything -- as he flopped on top of her, letting her carry his whole weight; she sat there, eyes wide and arms around his waist, as he nuzzled into her neck. “Mmmm…”

Fjord tried to massage the pins and needles from his arm. “There you go…”

Jester was quiet, just holding Caleb as the wizard slowly fell back to sleep in her arms…

She welled up, but she held him tight. “He didn’t want to resurrect you,” she told him softly. Maybe she had a halfhearted hope that Fjord wouldn’t be able to hear her, even though he was well within earshot. “H-He thought it would be… too dramatic. Too godly… s-so he t-told me to let Caduceus do it…”

Fjord went deathly still.

His pupils contracted into slits, staring in Jester’s direction. _What?_

“I-I know you can’t understand me…” Jester whispered thickly, holding back her tears. “A-And maybe I should have just said okay. But I got upset…”

She swallowed, and finally -- so gently -- laid him down into her nest of blankets. Caleb’s sleepy blue eyes opened one last time, a tiny smile crossing his lips as she tucked him in with loving hands. Frumpkin stepped over Fjord gracelessly and curled up beside his master.

Fjord watched as Jester wiped at her cheeks… then started to crawl over to him.

He accepted her body curling up beside his, anger and worry and concern brimming in equal measure in his slitted eyes. He wrapped an arm around their little blue tiefling, brows furrowed as he gazed down at her. He didn’t want to pry. He just waited for her to continue. As long as she wanted to.

He was waiting for a while. 

What felt like an eternity, really, there in the ghostly witching hour, where he wasn’t sure what was a thought and what was spoken aloud. He could feel the quiet shiver of her body tucked against his. He could hear Caleb’s soft breathing. Nothing else.

“I got upset…” Jester whispered into his bloodied, dirty armor. “I should’ve just said okay…”

Fjord didn’t say anything.

“... I… I had to _do_ it, you know? I-It’s because of me. If I had been a better… better _priestess,_ I would’ve just told her to chill out! And none of this would have happened…” she told him, voice trembling under her breath.

“We’re gonna fix it,” Fjord whispered. “We could fix it right now.”

Jester blinked, looking tearfully up at him. “What do you mean…?”

“Greater Restore him. Right now,” he breathed, nodding encouragingly. “He’s asleep. He’s warm, he’s comfortable. He’ll wake up in the morning and his brains will be back.”

Jester started to pull away. “Fjord--”

“Jester, he’ll only have missed one day. He’ll go through a bit of shock in the morning, but you can do this, I _know_ you can…”

“I don’t _want to do that_ while he’s asleep.”

Fjord let out a soft huff of frustration, closing his eyes. “God dammit…”

Jester frowned and sat up. “Fjord.”

He rubbed his sleepless eyes… and finally looked up into her stern face. Her violet eyes were keen on him. _Disappointed._ It made his heart sink even lower.

Fjord sighed heavily, covering his face. “I’m-- I’m sorry.”

“I know you want him back. I do too… but… I don’t want to-- _invade his mind_ while he’s sleeping.”

“No no, I-I get why you’re doing what you’re doing, Jester…” he told her firmly, still trying to whisper. He exhaled unhappily and rubbed his aching, numbed face. “It’s your spell. I… I’m just… God, I need to _sleep…”_

Jester watched him for a moment, searching his face. “Why are you so angry about it…?”

“I-I’m not-- I’m not angry. I’m just fucking--” _Angry._ “I just wish I could’ve done more. I was right there. I talked to her. I-I lost time because of her. And I know there is no… _no fucking point_ in dwelling on it. The past is past. It’s _done._ I want to _forget_ about it. And I cannot _forget_ about this _nightmare_ while he’s still like this…”

Jester nodded quietly, sitting on her heels and gazing towards the fire.

Fjord looked up at her, yellow eyes flickering over her lush blue skin. The tear tracks on her cheeks glittered gold in his vision. Her hair was unbrushed and frizzy in the Xhorhasian humidity… and with each movement, her cleavage threatened to spill out of her sweet pink nightgown. The silky fabric strained against soft, powerful muscle. He could barely look away.

“That, and…” he started, then stopped.

Jester gazed back down at him.

Fjord looked away, down at the tangled blankets -- the image of her burned into his retinas -- as he turned his next words over in his head. “And… I was planning on asking you to dance,” he confessed, trying to sound casual. “Before… Miss Feeblemind happened. The moment passed. I suppose I _am…_ a _little_ angry about that.”

Jester’s face softened. A glitter of happiness shone in her eyes. “You were going to ask me to dance…?”

Fjord nodded, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His heart dissolved to hopeless _goo_ in his chest. Gods, he was weak. _So_ weak. “Yeah. I was…”

Jester blushed and looked down, a bittersweet, soft, lingering look in her eyes. Her fingers tangled in her skirt. For a few seconds, she didn’t answer. But when she did, her face -- her voice -- was just as wrecked and longing as Fjord’s chest felt.

“Well… maybe… when all this is over, you should ask me again?” she asked quietly.

Fjord nodded, butterflies swarming in his belly. “Yes…” he whispered back, like a gleeful secret. 

His throat threatened to close in relief. “I very well may…”

Jester wrinkled her nose at him, her smile a beacon in the dull firelight. “You still stink.”

“Oh.” 

He looked down at himself. “Right… I’m going to go fix that now,” he told her, stumbling to his feet. Ever so carefully, he picked his way free of their sleeping friends, tiptoeing upstairs. Every footfall felt like a gunshot, and every step of the way it was as if he could feel Jester’s sweet eyes on him.

Finally, he reached the shelter of the spa. He closed the door, locked it, and let out an immense sigh of relief. “Oh my _god…_ What the fuck was that??” he whispered to himself, immediately yanking off every single piece of stinking armor that he had. “‘Yes, I very well may.’ What the _fuck…?_ What does that even mean?? Yeah. Real smooth. _Fuck.”_

He turned the hot water faucet all the way to the left, grabbed a handful of soap, and proceeded to scrub every inch of himself, muttering the whole way.

…

In Rexxentrum, the rain had finally stopped. A deep, hot fog had settled over the city in the wake of the storm -- like a giant’s breath -- shifting ethereally in the streets as the sun set over the city skyline. The street lamps were shapeless balls of light in the mist, wavering and uncertain, orange _eyes_ in the coming night. The fog was so thick that Emmeline couldn’t even clearly see the street outside the window of the waiting room. It sent closed-in, claustrophobic chills down her spine. Her ears, given so little stimulation for hours on end, felt like they were roaring and ringing silently with the pulse of her own blood.

Emmeline realized she had been looking at the same page of her novel for nearly twenty minutes. She swallowed thickly, felt her ears pop, and turned the page.

Suddenly, she heard them.

Footsteps. Light and casual. Unsuspecting. A woman’s feet.

Emmeline quietly shoved her novel into her bag and grabbed her spellbook, flipping instantly to an advanced spell right in the middle of her well-worn tome. Dominate Person. 

Scanning the page, she whispered to herself, weaving her fingers through the air. She sent a small, imploring prayer to the Traveler… and just as the door opened, she cast it.

In the moments before her spell took hold, Emmeline saw her. A human in her mid-thirties -- with short, dirty blonde hair combed over one side of her face -- the woman she knew to be a _volstrucker_ was dressed in practical, well-made clothes; a sturdy, long-sleeved dress that showed little wear, buttoned up in the front, and boots made for more than just riding. A pronounced scar, inflicted by a blade, ran from the top of her brow all the way down to her chin…

The woman blinked.

For a moment, Emmeline felt her stomach drop out of her body. Had her spell not worked? She had blown her highest level spell slot to cast this at the duration she _needed._ If it failed, she would have to come back, and if she came back, then--!

Then, the woman looked up. Her pupils were fully contracted, single black pinpricks in the center of hard blue irises.

Emmeline didn’t know whether to feel relieved or even more tense. Internally, she decided that relief would probably be easier on her nerves right now. 

The uncertain part was over. _Now the easy part._

“Hello…” she whispered.

The _volstrucker_ stared at her wordlessly. Expectantly.

Emmeline took a deep, shaky breath. “Tell me your name.”

“Astrid.”

 **_Astrid._ ** Yes. This was her. This was the female she remembered. She knew it as surely as she knew her _own_ name.

Emmeline straightened her back, eyes hard. “Do you remember a woman named Emmeline Becker?”

The female _volstrucker_ \-- _Astrid_ \-- stood there for a moment. She could feel her thoughts moving sluggishly through the chains of enchantment. Thinking back. “I know the name somehow,” Astrid finally murmured, her voice flat and lifeless. “But I’m not sure from where.”

Rage roared in her veins. She didn’t even _remember_ her.

Emmeline bit the inside of her cheek, eyes alight in fury, wrangling the urge to tackle the scourger to the ground and strangle the life from her. Not yet. _Not fucking yet._ It was one thing to find an estranged member of the Cerberus Assembly on a remote tropical island, lead him away from his friends, Feeblemind him successfully by some _stroke_ of luck, bludgeon him to death, and get away with a spell transcribed from _his_ spellbook. She hadn’t been _smart_ about destroying Widogast. She had been fast, she had been resourceful, and she had been _fucking lucky._ In Rexxentrum -- in the very shadow of the Candles -- Emmeline _couldn’t_ rely on luck to finish what she started and _survive._ She had a plan to uproot and draw out the remaining _volstrucker_ agents, and eventually the Assembly itself. She needed to stick to it.

She took out the letter that she had found in Caleb’s bag. “Did you write this?”

Astrid looked down at it, blinking slowly. “...Yes.”

Emmeline folded it and put it away. “How is it that you can return to your home within a day, no matter where you are on business?”

“I have a teleportation circle, hidden under a magical rug in my office.”

 _Just as suspected._ “Show me.”

Astrid turned and walked out of the room. Emmeline followed, ice flowing through her veins now as her feet carried her upstairs, after the woman she remembered so clearly. It felt like a prophecy that was meant to be fulfilled. That she would be here now, after so many years of study, beginning the careful, deliberate process of picking these people apart… thread by thread. Unraveling the tapestry of _corruption_ in the city that she was born in.

Astrid went upstairs and took a key out of her pocket, unlocking her office door.

Emmeline held out her hand for it. “Give that to me,” she murmured.

Astrid obeyed. 

The disguised enchantress took it from her, pulling a block of soft clay from her bag and pressing a deep imprint of the key into it. Once she had the key’s impression, she wiped the metal off with a corner of her dress and gave it back to Astrid. “Go on,” Emmeline told her. “Show me the circle.”

Astrid opened the door and walked inside. Emmeline followed, one hand on the door, and glanced carefully down the hall. The halfling servant was nowhere in sight, so she followed.

The door clicked closed behind them.

Emmeline turned in a slow circle, taking in the small, simple office as Astrid bent down beside her desk. The woman traced her fingers through the air in a quiet, whispered cantrip; Emmeline saw a warding glyph pulse, glow, and dissolve on the corner of the rug. She watched her peel the rug up, revealing a round, carved circle of arcane glyphs beneath.

Emmeline sat down, opened her spellbook to the newly-transcribed page -- Teleportation Circle -- and sketched out the image. A minute ticked by in silence. Astrid stood there silently, staring at her.

“...Okay.”

Emmeline closed her spellbook. “Put the rug back. And the warding glyph. Just as it was.”

“It will take an hour to replace the glyph of warding.”

“Did I stutter?” the enchantress asked softly.

Astrid nodded and got down on her knees, laying the rug back down. As she was leaning down, opening her spellbook to reference the glyph, the enchantress watched her. A cold, eerie calm settled over Emmeline. She had control now. It felt… _incredible._

About ten minutes later, Emmeline spoke again, eyes glazed over. “Say ‘butterscotch.’”

“Butterscotch.”

“Tap the rug three times.”

Astrid obeyed.

A tiny smile curled across Emmeline’s lips. She ducked her head, eyes alight… and scooted over, moving to the side so that she could watch Astrid work. She just gazed at the woman’s profile, at her scar, at the curve of her nose, her heavy-lidded eyes…

“You know why he chose you, right?” Emmeline asked quietly.

Astrid continued to work on her glyph. “Ikithon?”

“Yes.” The enchantress’s belly twisted, but her voice was cold and steady. “Ikithon.”

“I was chosen… from obscurity,” Astrid murmured, her hair spilling over her face as she continued to work. The words came hesitantly, like she would _never_ say them to a stranger. And yet the enchantment pulled them out of her, forcibly, her teeth bared as she spoke; like someone might milk the venom from a snake. “He saw greatness in us. He pulled us from the mud, from the common life. He put us through hell, and we came out the other side _stronger.”_

“Us?” Emmeline prompted softly.

“Y-Yes.” Astrid’s brows furrowed. She closed her mouth. Confusion riddled her face. Why was she _talking?_ “My… c--”

“Go on.”

“My classmates. And I…”

“Tell me their names.”

“E—“

“Go _on.”_

Astrid looked nauseous, her hands still drawing glyphs in the air, as if moving separately from her own mind. “Eodwulf. And Bren.”

“Where are they now?” Emmeline asked, thumbing through her spellbook.

“Eo— E-Eodwulf… is… stationed at the… Vergesson Sanatorium. Bren…” the woman visibly swallowed down a lump of bile, brows furrowed. “Bren goes by a different name now.”

Emmeline paused.

She glanced up. “Red hair?” she murmured. “Blue eyes?”

“Yes.”

She gazed down at her spellbook, at the newly transcribed Widogast’s Web of Fire. “I see…” Emmeline whispered to herself. “I understand he disappeared a while ago. A _long_ while ago. What became of him?”

“He… did not graduate.”

She glanced up. “Why?”

“He… didn’t have the strength of mind… Not like we did.”

Emmeline’s black eyes went from confused... to _ice cold._ “What did you do to graduate?” she whispered. “What did you and your friend Eodwulf _do,_ to get those tattoos and spread your wings as a fully fledged _volstrucker,_ Miss Astrid? What broke Mr. Bren so thoroughly that he disappeared for _sixteen years…?”_

Astrid had gone a sickly pale. “I don’t see how that’s relevant. I— My head hurts, ma’am…”

_“Tell. Me.”_

The volstrucker was silent, on her knees, still working on her spell and looking like she was about to throw up… then, finally, she opened her mouth.

…

A knife snicked almost soundlessly through Astrid’s hair, biting through a lock that sprung hidden beneath her layers. A lock of hair that wouldn’t be noticed or missed.

“Stand there,” Emmeline ordered coldly.

Astrid obeyed, standing right before the door to the waiting room, as Emmeline tied the lock of her hair with a string and tucked it into her bag. The enchantress sighed deeply, taking inventory of everything. Yes. She was done here, for now. It was time.

Just… one last thing.

Emmeline looked into Astrid’s contracted, rapidly blinking eyes. She was fighting. It was admirable, but unless she took damage of some kind, her concentration would hold. The uncertain part was over. The easy part was _almost_ done.

“You know why Ikithon picked you?” Emmeline murmured.

Astrid opened her mouth, but Emmeline shook her head, holding up a hand. “It’s rhetorical. Shut up and listen,” she ordered.

Astrid closed her mouth, staring blankly at the enchantress.

Emmeline locked eyes with her — cold black to vacant, unfocused blue — and continued. “He interviewed _me too,_ in my days at Soltryce,” she told her quietly, almost intimately as she searched Astrid’s face. “I remember the questions he asked me. However, the difference between _you_ and _me_ is that he was _my_ _professor._ Not just in _some_ of my classes. _Most_ of them. He ‘saw something in me’ too. He interviewed me for… what I imagine was _your_ position. But what he saw? In you? That he didn’t see in _me…?”_

She stepped closer, analyzing every inch of her face. “He saw that you could be manipulated. Conditioned. I know now that it’s something that enchanters _have to_ learn to _see_ in people. To push your influence on to others… you have to know when others will bend. _You?_ You and Bren… and I can only _assume_ Eodwulf, too… are tough. But you have a bending point. Ikithon chose you because he _knew he could manipulate you._ He knew he could turn you into a monster… and one day you’d _thank_ him for it. Why he _chose_ you and those two boys, Miss Astrid, is because you were _fucking weak._ And you _still are._ You have wrapped your brittle bones in armor made of lies, and lied and _lied_ and _lied_ to yourself, so often and so much that you can’t even recognize it as a lie anymore. You just don’t know it. You don’t see it. The reason that Ikithon didn’t pick **_me…_** The reason why he had you three do **_all those things_** to me…”

She touched Astrid’s scar, brushing her knuckles feather-light against her chin. “Is because **_I do._ ** And I wouldn’t have bought his bullshit for a _second…”_

Astrid didn’t respond.

Emmeline took a deep breath… then she smiled quietly, bitterly. “Now. I am going to go inside this room, close the door, and sit down. You will open the door. Once you do, you are going to _completely forget_ that the last hour and a half ever happened. You understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl.”

Emmeline turned, fingers trailing off Astrid’s chin as she went… and went back into the waiting room. She closed the door… and waited.

Astrid opened the door, and Emmeline ended her spell.

Astrid faltered, blinking rapidly… then she just furrowed her brows in confusion and opened the door the rest of the way. “Hello,” she murmured, offering a hand to shake. “Can I help you?”

Emmeline stood up, shaking her hand with both of hers, her fabricated expression colored with distress. “Y-Yes, ma’am…”

Astrid eyed her demeanor, then carefully took her hand back. “My servant told me that you were here from Zedash, on behalf of a law firm. My uncle passed?”

“I— no, ma’am,” Emmeline whispered. Her eyes flickered around like a skittish doe, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “I have not. I am sorry for the deception, but I thought it was the only way to get in the door. The only way to speak to you.”

The volstrucker’s expression darkened, so subtly that anyone else might not have noticed. Her fingers twitched towards her spellbook. “Why are you here?”

Emmeline swallowed, her fingers moving quickly towards her jacket. “H-Here, I—“

“Not so fast!”

“I-I’m sorry!” she squeaked, raising her hands. “I’m sorry. There is… there is a letter. In my jacket.”

Astrid’s eyes narrowed cruelly. She opened the woman’s jacket, extracted the folded letter, and opened it.

Her eyes flickered with recognition… then confusion. “How did you get this?” she demanded quietly, closing the door firmly behind her.

“I found it… on a dead man.”

Astrid stared at her. “...What? Wh— Who was this dead man?”

“I don’t know! But… he was speaking of _revolution,”_ Emmeline told her, her voice hushed. Frightened. “Him and his compatriots. He was waving this around a-and— and talking about how he had an _in_ with his old classmates! How someone in the Cerberus Assembly had _lied_ to him, had _wronged him!_ That he was going to overthrow the Empire! They were walking, s-so, I… I followed. There was the sound of fighting, against— I don’t know who, but whatever happened, he was dead by the end of it… Th-They spoke in Common. About how it wasn’t a _bad idea._ They left his body there. I-I picked over it for clues, and I found the letter. It had your address… and I knew I had to warn _someone_ of authority…”

She watched Astrid’s face go from disbelief… to an obscured blankness of utter shock. The muscles in her jaw fluttered. The woman clenched her teeth…

She watched betrayal and _disappointment_ flicker subtly in Astrid’s face.

The _volstrucker_ looked down at the letter, her eyes dark. “Did you manage to catch the dead traitor’s name…?” 

“Um… Kent? Caleb? Something with a K or a hard C...”

Astrid’s face crumpled ever so slightly. The enchantress felt a tiny, sick ball of satisfaction bounce in her belly as the young woman gazed down at the letter. Seconds ticked by. Emmeline didn’t interrupt, watching the emotions spin in her brain… and finally land on _righteous anger._

“Do you remember what his compatriots looked like?” Astrid demanded quietly, anger and grief like _ice_ in her eyes. “Who is coming to Rexxentrum?”

“I didn’t hear their names…” Emmeline confessed weakly. “They were a colorful bunch, though. Hard to miss. A human woman in the colors of the Cobalt Soul. A half orc, I think? A blue tiefling, and—“

“That’s good enough. Thank you.”

“A-Are you sure…?”

“Yes.” Astrid met her eyes, her gaze hard and cruel as a glacier. “You have been a great assistance to the Empire.”

She tucked the letter away and pulled out her purse. She collected ten gold coins, gripped Emmeline’s hand, and dropped them into her palm, closing them around the money. “Speak of this to no one else,” Astrid told her softly, searching her face. “The Assembly will take care of this. You’ve done well.”

Emmeline nodded, gently closing her hand around the gold. “Thank you… I— My duty is to the Empire.”

“Yes, it is. Bring me any more tips that you have.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Astrid nodded, her gaze hard, and waved a hand. Emmeline curtseyed like a woman who didn’t know quite how to curtsy — slightly off balance — and walked out of the room, her head down as she listened to Astrid sit down heavily. She was sure that if she turned to look, she would see the _volstrucker_ with her head in her hands.

Emmeline almost felt bad, unleashing the wrath of the Cerberus Assembly upon a group of unsuspecting adventurers… but there was no way that _Bren’s_ companions would let his death go unavenged. They would follow her to Rexxentrum one way or another. If they had their way, they would likely _kill_ her. She _had_ to take precautions. With the Assembly to keep them busy, by the time that the Empire sorted out the whole mess and guessed what was _really_ happening, it would be too late to stop.

The uncertain part was over. The easy part was done.

Now came the hard part.

Re-sparking a revolution.

...

* * *

When Caleb woke up in the morning, he was in a pile of blankets. A lot of blankets. They all had warm hollows in them, like a bunch of people had slept around him, wrapped up in blankets on the floor. He was warm. He was in comfortable clothes.

But… where was he?

Oh well. It didn’t matter. He felt nice and warm and dry and clean and comfortable.

Caleb curled back up happily into his blankets and started to go back to sleep, just gently stroking the fluffy cat beside him. He didn’t hear Fjord, Yasha, Beau, and Caduceus whispering a goodbye at the door. He didn’t see Jester give Fjord a gentle hug and a happy smile. He didn’t hear Essek teleport them away to the city of Rexxentrum. 

He didn’t even recall that there was anything that existed outside of that warm, wonderful kitchen. So, he slept… completely none the wiser of the chaos to come.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip in pieces m9


	8. Black, Blue, & Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In dreams, Caleb’s brain struggles against Feeblemind. Jester and Veth discuss ways of buying their stupid kitty cat wizard’s affections. Meanwhile -- in the wake of important discoveries about Emmeline Becker and her origins -- Astrid sends a very special minion after Fjord, Beau, Yasha, and Caduceus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who has two thumbs, bought the Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount, and has been REFERENCING IT to get accurate locations and stuff for these landmarks?? *points both thumbs at myself* this girl.

Astrid’s eyes were glazed over in the silence of her office, rolled back in her skull as she focused on a point far in the distance. Her scrying spell had her full focus, even as her letter — written months and months ago — was clasped loosely in her fingers.

The bitter sting of betrayal was not one she was used to. But the evidence was difficult to refute.

Especially when — even now — she could see four of the seven members of the Mighty Nein, doing research in the central library of the Cobalt Soul. She had seen them all at a distance in the past. Observed them. Shown pictures. Especially after Bren had arrived in the capital with a group of colorful strangers; the Assembly had not seen them as a threat, even though their network made it a point to collect their basic information. Fjord. Beauregard Lionette. Caduceus Clay. Yasha. They were here in Rexxentrum... so, where were the other two? Nott the Brave and Jester Lavorre…?

Astrid allowed her spell to end… and cast it again, focusing on the little goblin she had seen...

Ten minutes passed… and nothing. The damn creature had resisted.

Astrid exhaled angrily. She felt a crinkle of the paper in her fingers, her eyes dark as she glared down at the offending letter.

Suddenly, there was an arcane _thud_ of displaced air beside her desk.

Eodwulf — tall, broad shouldered, his short black hair cropped close to his head, and his expression hard as stone — stood beside her desk. Without a greeting, or as much as a second glance, the subordinate scourger went to stand before her. He straightened his spine, raised his jaw, and waited for orders.

“...Bren Ermendrud is dead,” Astrid told him, gazing over the letter.

If she had been looking at him, she might have seen Eodwulf’s dark brown eyes flicker down at her. An instant of disbelief. A silent question. Wulf had always been a man of few words, ever since they were young and had shared a bed… along with the only person that had _ever_ made him soften. That person had never been Astrid. Personally, she couldn’t speak to it — the unspoken connection, the electricity, the _antithesis_ of love and the ultimate comradery that Bren had shared with Eodwulf. Where Astrid had had wonderful, _stupid_ young love with that young man from their training years… Eodwulf had been dry wood, and Bren had been the fire that set him ablaze whenever he was nearby. Astrid was the soft dirt to keep them in check, digging out a ditch to manage the flames, keep them from destroying the world together...

Then… that night at the Ermendrud’s little shack… sixteen years ago… 

It didn’t matter now, did it? But without Bren to keep them together — in all his boundless curiosity and silliness and _relentless_ fire — Astrid and Eodwulf had drifted apart. There was nothing to hold them to one another. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t tried… but it just hadn’t worked. Not the same way. The life and excitement in their relationship had fled to the Vergesson Sanatorium along with their friend... and their lover. Regret was the wrong word to describe Astrid’s feelings on the matter, though. After so long, she had hardened herself to it and embraced the burns on her throat. For sixteen years, perhaps Bren’s heart had been beating somewhere in the world. But Astrid and Eodwulf had moved on with bitter hearts. Taken and discarded overnight lovers. Dedicated to the Empire. _Grown up._

Astrid was sure that this was the first time she had spoken directly to Eodwulf in over a year.

By the time she looked up, Eodwulf had composed his expression, looking straight ahead.

“Assemble a team,” Astrid murmured, signing the official order. She dipped her seal in a small bowl of melted wax, gently massaging the three-pronged sigil of the Assembly onto the paper. She waited for it to dry. “You are to bring in at least one target for questioning. It doesn’t matter who. Kill the others if they resist.”

She handed Eodwulf the orders. “Make it fast.”

He took the paper from her, opened it, and read it over… then folded it up and stepped through the teleportation circle.

Astrid exhaled heavily, interlacing her fingers and pressing them to her mouth as she just tried to process. Once again, she was alone.

...

* * *

Blue sky.

White. Blinding white. Cold. Very cold.

Winter. It was winter. A long time ago. Seventeen years ago. 

In a tall stone. 

No. A tower. Bad tower. Good tower? 

Bittersweet tower. Nostalgic tower. Dreaded tower. Anger tower. Too Many Feelings tower. His Tower. Trent Ikithon’s tower, black and intimidating to outsiders, but to Bren it had been home for many years now… that familiar black tower where all the scourgers were kept and trained. On the northern outskirts of the grounds of the Vergesson Sanatorium.

His red hair was short. He got cold easily. He was not afraid of fire yet.

Seventeen years ago, Bren sat at his desk, staring down at his notes. His young forehead, not yet etched with stress and mourning, was furrowed, the line between his brows carved deep as he read the same page over and over again. He had been in the same position since dawn… but even in the discomfort and unease that he felt, his body was comfortable. Astrid had stoked the fire in his hearth after the events of the night before, the magical flames crackling without fuel or danger of spreading. They all had similar small, but comfortable rooms… all with hearths to ward off the bitter winters at the foot of the Dunrock Mountains.

Bren realized he was pressing on his bruised hands again. He cleared his throat, self-consciously returning to his notes.

“Bren?”

He glanced up.

Astrid stood in the doorway. Young. Seventeen and beautiful, her blue eyes and soft, curling brown hair trimmed just past her earlobes. He subconsciously relaxed when he saw her, his eyes warm as the blankets he was wrapped in.

Her blood-splattered clothes meant little. It was more common than not that they had some blood on their work clothes.

“Hello,” Bren murmured, trying to give her a little smile. He coughed again. His hands -- bruised black and blue around the knuckles -- closed his notes as he turned towards her. “How’s it going down there?”

Astrid inhaled, in the way that she did before she told him good news. 

Bren’s spine straightened, eyes lighting up hopefully. “Anything we can use?” he interrupted.

Astrid couldn’t help but smile at his eagerness. “Well… we have a location. She’s nearing the end of her rope, so we’re not entirely sure it’s a relevant image. Detect Thoughts caught a couple flashes of it. Master Ikithon said that it’s worth following up on.”

Bren faltered. “Am I allowed to come?”

“Do you _want_ to come?”

“Yes! Of course I want to come!” he snapped, standing up and tossing his blankets onto the bed. He was shedding his pajamas in an instant, ignoring the cold air that washed over his bare torso. More bruises -- heavy ones, spreading pools of color under his ivory skin -- were visible against the firelight. “I can do this. I’m not going to let that… that _traitor_ get to me ever again.”

“Bren.”

He shoved one arm into his uniform, not hesitating.

Astrid’s hand brushed against a bruise. Bren stopped moving, just for a moment, then he continued to get dressed in his winter gear. His movements were gentler. She had a calming effect on him, Astrid did. She always had… 

“Eodwulf isn’t angry with you,” she told him softly.

Bren’s breath snagged in his chest. He swallowed the sudden, unexpected lump in his throat. He had to cough to get past it, take a deep breath, and only then finish buttoning up his coat. “That’s good. Is he downstairs?”

There was a moment of quiet… then he felt two pairs of eyes on him. Bren’s bruised fingers went still. 

_She brought him here._

Of course she had brought him here. Why wouldn’t she? Astrid always thought she knew best, right…? And she _did_ know best. Right…?

What had happened? What happened next? After that? Caleb didn’t know…

Who was Caleb?

_“Who is Caleb...?” Bren asked._

_The buttons on his coat were slowly undone by her delicate, midnight blue fingers. Eodwulf’s slender, strong, deep green fingers wrapped around his throat._

_Caleb took a deep breath in… and turned, clearing his throat, and meeting Eodwulf’s slit yellow eyes. The bruises that colored them… neither of them were at fault. Magic had arrested their minds and turned them against one another. He knew it just as much as Wulf did._

_Eodwulf and Bren didn’t need words. They rarely did._

_Astrid kissed the big, hand-shaped bruise on the back of Bren’s neck. Her eyes were a soft, beautiful, playful violet, her blue tail whipping behind her. “Master Ikithon gave us an hour before we have to leave. He said we deserve a little reward after last night… to do whatever we wanted…”_

_His eyes flickered back over his shoulder, glittering with adoration, apology, and arousal. “Yeah?” he whispered softly. “But… who’s Caleb?”_

_“Who are you talking about, Bren?” Jester asked him softly._

_Fabric slid sweetly off his shoulders. His brows furrowed. His eyes were glassy, dazed by the slow melting of the room around him. “I don’t know…” he confessed, his voice husky and unfocused. His blood was simmering, transforming to fire in his veins… starting to burn painlessly through his skin... Caleb could see his own bones through the haze of his dream, laced with flame..._

_“I…”_

_This wasn’t real. This was memory._

_Memory. Memory. Hold tight to memory._

**_It doesn’t matter what happened after. If you wake up, you’ll forget everything. Just hold on._ **

_A blue sweet horned tailed love Astrid crooned softly into his shoulder, her breasts pressing against his back. Green handsome strong Eodwulf -- small tusks behind his lips, slit-pupils eyes blessed in yellow -- kissed him._

**_Stay in the moment._ **

_Caleb’s brain caught fire. The tower around them continued to slop, to melt, his mind slowly returning to ash._

**_Stay in the moment..._ **

Fire ignited and _exploded_ as their bodies cleaved together.

**_Stay in the…_ **

**_Who’s Caleb...?_ **

His eyes rolled back in his head… and everything else ceased to exist, washed away in a rolling tsunami of heat, agony, and _ecstasy._

* * *

...

“Oh, this is a good part— ‘Oskar leaned over her, his meat tower touching her lips. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispered in his daaaaark, orcish voice! ‘No one will hear you gasp. My _cock_ will make sure of that!’’ Oh wowwwww, so _saucy!_ What happens neeeeext? ‘Gwenivere—‘“

Veth passed by the kitchen, stopped, and doubled back. Jester was lying down beside an unconscious Caleb, holding a book open above her face. “Uh, Jester?”

She peeked up at Veth “Ya?”

“Are you reading _Tusk Love_ to Caleb while he’s sleeping?”

“Uh huh!” Jester smiled brightly, then glanced uncertainly down at the book. “Why, do you think I should read him something else?”

Veth cleared her throat awkwardly. “I mean…”

“It’s the only adult book we had!”

“Yeah, well, maybe a smut book isn’t the best idea…?” the halfling woman offered. She pointed at Caleb’s pelvic region. “I mean, uh—“

Jester looked down. Her eyes widened. “Oh shit! Whoopsie!”

“Yeah, we might just—!”

“Let’s get a blanket to cover that, yeah!”

Jester grabbed a handful of blankets and hoisted them over Caleb’s lower half. The wizard made a noise of discomfort and confusion and opened his eyes. “Mmm…!”

“Sorry, Cayleb!!” 

He groaned and curled into a ball under the blankets, hands shifting to examine his problem. “Mmm…”

“Yeah yeah! You take care of that! We will be um—“

 _“Waaaaay_ over on the other side of the house!” Veth finished, making a wide gesture.

“Yes! Yes! So, um, yell if you need us!” Jester exclaimed.

Caleb wasn’t paying attention to them anymore, a barely identifiable ball under the pile of blankets. Absolutely red and purple in the face, Jester and Veth beat a hasty retreat upstairs and to the other side of the house. Veth immediately whirled on their cleric. “Okay! _No_ more porn books!” she declared, face burning.

“Ya ya ya ya!! No! I mean! He used to kinda like that book, I think!”

“No more porn books! Jester! Look me in the eye and repeat after me!” Veth ordered, looking like she was torn between laughing and embarrassment. “‘No more porn books.’”

“No more porn books,” Jester repeated clumsily.

“Yes! Okay.”

The halfling sighed in relief, coughed, and patted her own chubby, burning cheeks. “Oh wow. Okay…” she mumbled to herself. “We _have_ to find some other way to keep him entertained and at peace.”

“I mean… porn books always entertain and relax _me!”_ Jester offered. “But no more porn books?”

“Yes!! No!! No more porn books!!”

The blue tiefling huffed. “Okaaaaay…” she mumbled back. “Well, what other ideas are there? What relaxes Caleb? What’ll show him that we’re friends, so that I can get close to him with a spell?!”

“Maybe… a present?” Veth offered.

Jester lit up. “Oh my god! Yeah!!” she exclaimed, her voice pitching high with excitement as she waved her hands at Veth. “Veth, you’re a genius!! We’ll get him a present!”

The halfling puffed up proudly. “I know,” she replied smugly.

“But what kind of present?” Jester thought aloud. She hummed thoughtfully, rubbing her chin. “Hmmmm… what does Caleb like?”

“Books!!”

“Yeah!! He likes books!!”

“But he can’t read right now.”

Veth snapped her fingers in disappointment. “Damn. Maybe, um… Oh! Maybe _food?”_

“Yeah!! Food!!” Jester exclaimed. “Lots of sweets!! My mama got me to do all kinds of stuff when she said she’d give me sweets!!”

“We can cook him pancakes! And cookies!”

“Yeah!!”

“Oh. Wait. But Caleb isn’t the biggest fan of super sugary stuff…” Veth admitted, propping her hands on her hips.

“Which I still think is _super_ impossible, but if you think that’s right…” Jester mumbled crossly. “We should still cook pancakes and cookies and stuff. Because _I_ want them…”

“We can have a baking day. I promise.”

“Oh!! Do you know how to bake stuff?!”

“I do know how to bake stuff!”

Jester gasped. “You _do?!”_

“Of course I do! I raised my _own_ little boy, you know!” Veth replied, puffing up her chest proudly. “Halfling babies have the biggest sweet tooth of _all_ babies!”

“That’s amazing! Did he eat, like, _so many cookies_ every day?!”

“We had to find new places to hide the cookie jar,” Veth informed her. A stern, but nostalgic look came over her face. “It honestly got a little ridiculous…”

“...But back to Caleb!”

“Yes! Back to Caleb,” the short, brown-skinned woman admitted. She counted off on her fingers thoughtfully. “Okay! So. He _might_ like sweets just in general, but that’s not going to buy us any favor.”

Jester nodded. “Uh huh.”

“He can’t _read,_ so we can’t get him books.”

“Uh huh.” Suddenly, the blue tiefling’s face lit up. “Oh oh! I know!” she enthused. “Cayleb! Cayleb is an _awesome_ artist! We can get him paints! Even if he doesn’t know how to do fancy stuff, he might like finger painting with me!”

“He _‘might?’”_

“I mean, do _you_ have any better ideas?” Jester pouted.

Veth thought about it for a moment, her nose scrunched up… then a meow caught both their attention.

Frumpkin looked up at both of them expectantly from the door. He meowed again.

Veth stared at the cat… then, a slow, toothy _grin_ spread over her mouth. She looked up at Jester, eyes alight. _“Yes._ Yes, I _do.”_

“Really?? Tell me, tell me!!”

“All in good time, my young protege. _All in good time.”_

…

Beau slammed another heavy book onto the table, making Fjord jump in his seat. “Fucking _of course_ they’d give us half the library to sort through,” she grumbled, dropping into her chair and flipping through the time like it had wronged her.

“I mean, it’s rather unusual information to request,” Caduceus offered calmly, turning the page of a book that likely weighed nearly as much as he did.

“Cad, please don’t insert logic into this situation. Just lemme bitch about it for ten minutes.”

The firbolg smiled sleepily. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’d be happy to hear you bitch…” Yasha offered Beau, with a little smile.

“Thanks, babe.”

The Rexxentrum Archive of the Cobalt Soul had not changed since the last time they had arrived in the spring, during Oban’s attempt to release the Chained Oblivion. The only difference was that it was calmer now, not disturbed by the threat of Kryn assassins. Four tiers of towering libraries loomed over the central chambers, the stone walls and floors weathered by centuries of footsteps, care, and polish. Any careless voice echoed for hundreds of feet, soaking into massive, hanging, deep blue tapestries embroidered with images of Ioun — the Goddess of Knowledge — in gold thread. Monks and archivists crossed long walkways between the sectioned libraries. The slide of their sandals, the rustle of pages, and the murmur of hushed voices created an ambiance that had nearly made Fjord fall asleep twice already.

Beau sighed and slammed her book shut. The clap of heavy pages echoed through the space; several eyes darted disapprovingly in their direction. “We’ve been at this for hours. I feel like my brain is turning to _jelly.”_

“This material is, uh… kinda dry,” Fjord admitted. “I mean, we probably should’ve presumed that the Cobalt Soul doesn’t keep widely available records of Cerberus Assembly agents. Without a name…”

“It’s down to the old censuses. I _know.”_

“At least we can ignore the older people. And all the men and boys,” Yasha offered, trying to be helpful.

“Yeah, but even if we’re just looking at teenage slash young adult _human women,_ that’s fucking hundreds. Rexxentrum _alone_ has— what, two hundred— Fjord, gimme that.”

Fjord gladly surrendered the 815 Rexxentrum census. “Knock yourself out.”

Beau flipped a chunk of the book, slamming aggressively to the index. She checked the numbers. “Fuckin’... a hundred and sixty-six thousand, two hundred twelve _humans_ in Rexxentrum. If we just knock it down to the Shimmer Ward, it’s still thousands of names to go through. And they don’t have descriptions because why the fuck _would_ they?!”

“Beau,” Fjord whispered.

“What.”

“Her voice is echoing…”

Beau finally seemed to realize her volume and all the disapproving looks she was getting. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice, raising a hand sheepishly. “Hey. Yeah. Sorry. Sorry,” she muttered dryly. “My point is, I’m looking for a needle in a haystack, but also blindfolded with our hands tied above our heads.”

Yasha blushed at the imagery and busied herself with her book. “I— Yeah. Totally.”

Fjord eyed them both awkwardly and tried to push on. “Uh, _okay._ So, what do you suggest we do?” he muttered back. “Go to the Soltryce Academy and _ask?”_

“No… If she _was_ with the Assembly they’d have no reason to tell the truth. And if she’s not, they’d still have no reason to give us their logs.”

Fjord frowned. “What do you mean _‘if she’s not?’”_

“I’m just—! I’m just trying to consider all the possibilities, okay?”

“Hey, guys?” Caduceus called softly. His finger traced down the huge, weathered page of his own massive tome. “I think I found something.”

Yasha, Beau, and Fjord got up, chairs squeaking across the polished stone floor as they walked over, peering around their firbolg friend. “What’s this?” Beau deadpanned. “I thought we were looking through the censuses and shit.”

“I… had a hunch. From what we spoke about earlier,” Caduceus admitted. He tapped the long, weathered tome he had been reading for nearly three hours. “This is a... and I don’t know if I’m pronouncing it right, but… Vol… _Volkswagen…?”_

“Volkszählung der Verwandtschaft,” Beau corrected him dully. “It’s Zemnian for ‘Census of Relations.’ Why are you looking for family surnames?”

“Because there are short summaries here of the houses and their relations,” Caduceus replied. “And dates, for the houses and surnames that have died out. Even commoners. If our… ‘Miss Feeblemind’ was after Caleb because he had a hand in altering her life for the worse, perhaps it was her family that died out. And if she is the only surviving member… maybe we can get her name through _this_ census.”

Fjord clapped him on the back. “Caduceus, you’re a genius.”

“Oh! Well, _thank_ you. I try. Anyway…” the cleric mumbled, flipping back to a marked page among B section. “There is a family here. Becker. Marked as died out in 820… _but._ But…”

He flipped to another marker. “In 818, there were two members left. Elias and Emmeline Becker.”

Beau felt like she had been punched. “I— SHIT!” she yelled, hands flying into her hair.

Two monks immediately shushed her loudly. “Sorry!” Beau whispered hotly. “Shit! Guys, that’s her fucking name! Emmeline Becker! That’s what she said!”

Caduceus hesitated. “Well… that makes things a little complicated then.”

“Wait, why?”

“Because according to the official record, Emmeline Becker died in a carriage accident seventeen years ago. In 819.”

“Oh— Pfff! Fuckin’ _carriage accident?!_ That shit can be _faked.”_

“Well, yes…” Caduceus admitted. “I suppose it can.”

Fjord finally piped up, reaching across the flip back to the first page. “Wait, so, you’ve talked about 818 and 819. You said a name. Elias? Elias and Emmeline Becker?”

Beau rushed back to her books and immediately flipped to all the B sections. “Gonna find that bitch’s birthday…”

“I’ll help,” Yasha murmured, going over to her girlfriend.

Meanwhile, while the lesbians went back through the indexes, Fjord continued. “What’s the record on the rest of the family?” he asked Caduceus, brows furrowed. “Obviously, you know. They’re all—“ he made a gesture and a sound like he slit his throat, “ _—appplggrahhhh…_ you know. Dead. But when did this happen? Like, the parents? Elias? Emmeline? When did this happen?”

“Ummmm…” Caduceus traced his finger down the page. “The parents… Well, the parents divorced…”

“Mommy Feeblemind is Dawn Becker! She disappears off the _Blumenthal_ census in 811!” Beau called from the library shelf. She stuffed the book under her arm and slid down the ladder. “Says she moved to Berleben, down south. Died of a heart attack a few months later.”

“Aw, shit, Blumenthal. That’s…” 

Fjord looked uncertainly at Beau. “That’s where Caleb grew up, right?”

She nodded, her expression dark. “Yeah.”

“Anything special about Blumenthal?” Fjord asked.

“I dunno. Never been there.”

“Damn… well okay, there’s _that_ at least. That would put this girl at… Well—“ Fjord sighed heavily and rubbed his face. “Let’s figure out Daddy Feeblemind first. Who’s Dad?”

“Emmeline Becker…” Yasha read carefully, squinting down at the tiny, nondescript text and trying very hard not to mispronounce anything. “Born… 798. So she’s… oh god, I can’t do math— uhhhhh… thirty-eight now? And her… brother. Elias Becker. He was born… 788. Died 819. They were born to, uh… yeah. Mr. Jonas and Dawn Becker, both in Blumenthal.”

“Dad is Jonas, mom is Dawn, big brother is Elias… and Miss Feeblemind is Emmeline Becker.”

“Was,” Caduceus murmured softly.

Fjord hesitated, his gut twisting. “...Yeah. ‘Was,’” the half orc muttered quietly, rubbing his face.

This was why he didn’t want to find out about her. She was an _orphan_ at… what? Thirteen?

“How’d her father die?” he muttered.

“Uh…” Beau leaned over her book, squinting at the tiny print. “Jonas Becker, born 766, died 816. Perished in a bandit attack on Pride’s Walk Road…”

At that, the skin around Beau’s eyes tightened. Her brows furrowed…

Yasha looked at her curiously. “What is it?”

Beau was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she put the book down, chewing on the inside of her cheek. The parents had died _years_ apart. While that didn’t necessarily _mean_ that Becker _wasn’t_ a member of the Assembly, her father had died _while_ she had been in school at Soltryce. Maybe. But she hadn’t been the one to kill her parents, not like Caleb had. Had it been bandits, though? Or ‘bandits?’

“This is raising more questions than it answers,” she finally muttered. “Let’s get back on topic. Where’s the Rexxentrum and Blumenthal censuses for 816? The year the dad died.”

“Oh, here,” Caduceus murmured, handing her the weighty tomes.

Beau nodded thankfully and accepted them, flipping to _Becker_ in the index. Two members left of that particular Becker family. “Okay, that matches up…” she mumbled, comparing the two. It took a few minutes — searching through the numbers and names of different districts of the capital — but finally she figured out what she was looking for. “Okay. So, Thing Number One and Thing Number Two moved from _this address_ in Blumenthal to _this address_ in the Mudtop Ward in 816. Thing Number One died three years later, from—?”

Caduceus ran his finger down the page, his soft pink eyes analyzing the short obituary. Meanwhile, Beau wrote down the addresses in the Mudtop Ward and in Blumenthal. “There’s a passage here,” he murmured. “A small one, but…”

Yasha, Fjord, and Beau all looked up, unconsciously going quiet as Caduceus’s quiet, rumbling voice washed over them all like a healing balm.

“‘Elias Becker… A young man with a bright future ahead of him within the Crownsguard of Rexxentrum, was cut down in his prime by traitors of the Empire. May his memory and service to the King serve as a reminder to those who might betray it.’”

Caduceus glanced up. “Brother was in the Crownsguard.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“I mean… that tracks,” Beau admitted. “It, um—“

She looked back down at the census. “The 817 version says that she was living in the Shimmer Ward, on the Soltryce Academy grounds. I’m guessing dorms?”

“Dorms sounds about right. Student living? Started in 817?” Caduceus asked.

“Or maybe commuting from the Mudtop Ward until then. These things don’t have enough information to tell if she was attending _before_ 817,” Fjord pointed out. “That’s what bites about getting this information from census records. We can only tell where she was living.”

“Okay, but look—“ Beau interrupted. “819 is when the brother died. 819 is when _she_ ‘died,’” she exaggerated, drawing sarcastic air quotes around the word. “Those are the deaths that are the closest together. She was in the Shimmer Ward census that year too. So _that’s_ when it all happened! Whatever _happened.”_

Caduceus nodded in agreement. “Seventeen years ago. 819.”

“Okay okay okay, so… what do we _know?”_ Yasha asked, a quill poised to write down a summary of their notes.

Fjord held up a finger. “We know her brother was in the Crownsguard.”

The barbarian wrote it down carefully. “Okay…”

“It’s safe to say that we know she attended the Academy, right?”

“Yeah. I also got two addresses,” Beau told her, raising the piece of paper. “One’s her childhood home in Blumenthal, and the other is some place in the Mudtop Ward that she and her brother moved to after their dad died. _She_ — like, _just her,_ alone, _not_ with the brother — moved into Soltryce Academy dorms about _two years_ before shit got fucked and she faked her own death. That’s what we _know.”_

“Got some _assumptions,_ but…” Fjord trailed off.

“Yeah. We got _assumptions,”_ Beau admitted. “But this is what we got for sure.”

Yasha nodded to herself. “Okay…”

Caduceus closed the massive _Volkszählung der Verwandtschaft,_ looking curiously at the rest of them. “Are we packing up now? Are we done?”

“Fuck yeah. God, I hate libraries…” Fjord grunted, popping his back. 

Beau raised a brow at him. “Wait, really?”

“I-I mean… no. I don’t _hate libraries._ But right _now_ I do.”

“Ah. Naw, man, I’m with ya. This census shit is dry as hell. I don’t know how the archivists do it. Like, if I did this for more than a week I’d probably hang myself.”

Fjord stared at her. “Shit. That’s dark.”

Beau shrugged. “Eh… So, where are we going first, Captain?”

The half orc raised his brows at her. “Am, uh, am I still the captain?”

Beau nodded. “Yeah, man,” the monk murmured awkwardly, but earnestly, giving him a little whack on the shoulder. “You’re fuckin’... Captain _Fjord Stone_ of the Eden’s Horizon. That’s the coolest fuckin’ name I’ve ever heard. And, y’know… you were really good with the directions earlier, when we were... trying to find Caleb and shit. The rest of us didn’t really know where to start. Who knows how long it would’ve taken otherwise? And uh… yeah. I’d be real happy to follow your lead on this one too…”

Yasha nodded silently in approval. Caduceus gave him a little smile.

Fjord found himself welling up. “You _guys…_ ”

“Oh god. Oh god, Fjord.”

“Sorry!” he squeaked. He coughed. “I’m just—“

“Don’t cry.”

“—So emotional.”

“You okay?”

“Yup!” Fjord replied, a little too high pitched to be normal, blinking the tears back into his skull. Finally, he coughed and made a show of shrugging it off. “I’m good. I’m cool.”

“You cool, man?”

He lowered his voice another octave. “I’m _cool,”_ he mumbled, rolling his shoulders. “So cool.”

“G-Good! Good. Feeling good?”

“Feeling _manly._ Yeah. Phew. Super good.” Fjord cleared his throat. “Deusie, do you, uh, wanna connect with Jester? Let her know what we found?”

Caduceus chuckled and pulled out his Sending wire. “Certainly, captain.”

…

“She’s _perfect...”_ Jester whispered, stars in her eyes.

The regal, dark elf merchant chuckled warmly from the other side of the counter. Jester was standing in the most exquisite pet shop in the Gallimaufry, the rowdiest and most vibrant ward in the city of Rosohna. The architecture was high and soaring, laced with gold that glimmered green in the light of ever-burning lamps, home to a menagerie of exotic animals from all across Xhorhas. 

What had caught Jester’s eye -- however -- was an impossibly small black kitten with feathered, gunpowder-grey socks and _big,_ fiery eyes. Her irises transitioned from ruby red on the edges, to orange that flickered with chips of blue like fire opals, into a glowing, incandescent yellow close to her slit pupils. The baby cat stared at Jester, unblinking, her tail pointed up and out as she tried to keep her balance.

“She’s a purebred, domesticated Xhorhasian nightlynx, imported from the Vermaloc Wildwood and raised right here in Rosohna. Possessing very mild telepathic abilities, she will have no trouble understanding what you desire of her.”

“Like, she can understand what I’m thinking?!”

“She will understand basic concepts, yes. Of course, she will grow even more intelligent with proper stimulation as she grows. While the Xhorhasian nightlynx is very particular about specific details of her living situation and the amount of exercise that she receives, she is _very_ intelligent, _very_ beautiful, and very…”

A third, electric blue eye opened in the kitten’s forehead. She mewled at Jester.

Jester squeaked in excitement, clasping her hands to her chest. _“Oh!”_

“Perceptive,” the regal drow merchant finished, with a proud smile. “Her pedigree papers and tracking collar together will come to five hundred gold pieces.”

“Five hundred?! Oh my god, she must be a princess among cats!!”

Jester signed the papers and handed over the money. “I _aaaaaaam_ going to name her Princess,” she declared firmly. “Cayleb is going to _love_ her. She is probably smarter than _he_ is right now!”

“May I interest you in our full care package for the Xhorhasian nightlynx?”

“Oooooh, a package?”

A few minutes later, Jester had a full load of kitten supplies, a kitten with pedigree papers, and a coin purse that was _significantly_ lighter, waddling back to the Xhorhaus with everything under her arms. She was barely through the front door, when the scent of freshly baked cookies washed over her like heaven.

Jester nearly melted. “Oooooh… Veth!”

“In here, Jester!”

“Veth, it smells incredible in here!” the blue tiefling exclaimed. She let everything fall except for Princess, who she immediately plucked from her cage and carried her into the kitchen.

The kitchen was a mess, and so was Veth. The plump, smiling halfling woman was in a flour-smeared apron, stirring the next batch of chocolate-chip-cookie dough. Caleb -- warm, drying, and freshly bathed -- was sitting in front of the oven. He tried to open it, but Veth gently smacked his hand away from the handle; he would frown, stare at the baking cookies for a minute… and then the cycle would repeat.

Jester offered him the three-eyed cat. “Look what we got you!”

Caleb blinked, widely, staring at the cat. The kitten stared back… then mewled.

A slow, crawling blush of adoration spread over Caleb’s cheeks. 

Jester couldn’t help but beam to herself as their wizard accepted the tiny black kitten into his hands. He looked like he was going to cry from happiness as he nuzzled her. Princess looked thoroughly unimpressed, but unthreatened. “Awwwww, he loves her…!”

Frumpkin entered the room and froze at the sight of the kitten.

Jester lit up. “Oh, Frumpkin! You have a baby sister now! You two are going to be the best of friends!”

Frumpkin stared at her in horror.

“So, how much was it?” Veth asked, stirring her cookie dough.

Jester slouched against the counter, looking extremely innocent. “It waaaas… um, you know! We can afford it!” she declared, stealing a spoonful of the sweet dough and sticking it right in her mouth. “Mm!”

Veth looked at her warily. “I don’t really like the sound of that,” she chuckled nervously.

“Naw, c’mon man, don’t _worry_ about it!”

“That makes me _want_ to worry.”

Suddenly, Jester stopped chewing, a ping in the back of her eyes lighting her eyes. “Mm?”

Caduceus’s familiar, sleepy rumble hummed at the base of her skull. _“Found a couple addresses and family names of Miss Feeblemind. Emmeline Becker. We’re headed to the Mudtop Ward to get a room for the night.”_

Jester swallowed her mouthful, smiling brightly. “Mm! That was fast! Good job, guys! Also, we like, totally bought Caleb a kitten so that he’ll trust me to give him a little healing spell! It’s going so well, you guys! And now we have a really cute kitten in the house! We’re gonna be sooooo happy from now on!”

“I think you ran out of words, like, halfway through that,” Veth observed, hiding a smile and offering Caleb some cookie dough. He sniffed at it, took it from her, and licked at it.

“Oh poop…” Jester pouted. She shrugged. “Oh well! It’s fine! They’re doing fine and that’s what matters!”

“How much was the kitten, Jester.”

“Uhhhhh… likeathousandgoldidon’tknow--”

“A THOUSAND _WHAT?!”_

…

Caduceus was quiet for a minute. “...Huh.”

“What?” Beau deadpanned.

“It seems that they’ve gotten him a kitten.”

At the same time, Beau and Fjord both blinked… then they both _groaned._ The monk let her head fall back, eyes rolling. The warlock sighed and buried his face in his hands. “Hey, Beau?” Fjord muttered dryly. “First mate? Can you remind me whose _incredible_ idea it was to split the party?”

“And to leave our feebleminded wizard in the care of _Veth_ and _Jester,”_ Caduceus pointed out.

“Don’t—? That’s not—! Shut up.”

They emerged into the hazy fog, warm and _sticky,_ that had rolled into the Court of Colors just outside the archive. Night was falling, and fast. The only remaining monks of the Cobalt Soul were the guards on watch, faced outward; or at least, Fjord would assume. The sun had already vanished over a skyline that Fjord could barely see, tinges of dangerous red just barely showing through…

Through the mist, Fjord spotted a cloaked figure pass across the entrance of the courtyard… and vanish back into the darkening fog.

He threw out a hand. “Guys.”

Beau readied her staff, eyes narrowed. “I saw it.”

Caduceus’s hand tightened around his own staff, squinting into the fog, his soft ears and nostrils flared as he tried to detect something more certain in the closing fog. Yasha pulled out Skingorger, muscles tensing…

Then, a single figure emerged. Tall, with broad shoulders, and hard, unforgiving eyes. His clothes were dark and sturdy over a simple, unpolished breastplate. To Caduceus, a wizard’s spellbook was visible at his hip. At his other hip, a sword was sheathed, but the half inch of the blade that stuck out was a pale, scarred white, frothing in the same way that dry ice steamed in warm air.

“Who the _fuck_ are _you?!”_ Beau barked. Her voice was almost muffled in the blanket of mist.

The figure kept walking towards them.

Yasha bristled. “Stop right there!”

The figure stopped.

There was a moment of deathly silence. Caduceus squinted, peering through the mist to try and see that he was doing…

...

A deep, scarred, deep-rooted fury burning in his veins, Eodwulf reached into his component pouch and extracted a small orb of guano and sulfur. Around the courtyard — undetected — three other _volstrucker_ agents did the same, readying their Fireballs. Four castings of Fireball, ready to launch at Eodwulf’s command.

Now… which one of them seemed the _least likely_ to cooperate…?

…

Caduceus’s eyes widened. He looked around them, noticing other figures crouched in the misty shadows. “Uh, guys. We’re, uh, surrounded. It’s bad,” he told his party.

“How many?” Beau whispered, her teeth gritted.

“Four, including him.”

“Four on four? We can take ‘em. Right, Captain?”

Fjord’s shoulders tensed, his pupils contracted. He hesitated… then he summoned his sword. Its iridescent, solid, straight blade shone with its own subtle light in the mist, and the faint, cautious scent of a sea breeze fluttered through the growing fog.

“Did Becker send you?” he called towards the figure.

…

Eodwulf’s eyes narrowed. This traitor didn’t get to ask questions. He didn’t know anyone of importance named _Becker._ He refused to dignify the half-orc’s question with a response.

...

The figure pointed at Yasha, his black, maze-like tattoos beginning to spark with power. “Yasha Nydoorin,” a deep, sure, _dangerous_ voice stated. “You will be coming with us.”

Beau stepped in front of her, her expression dark. “Yeah, uh. _Fuck you,_ dude.” Fjord gripped his sword tighter. Caduceus whispered a prayer to his goddess under his breath, readying a spell to blow away the mist. Yasha raised Skingorger, teeth bared.

The figure didn’t move. He didn’t lower his finger…

Then — beneath his face covering — Eodwulf’s eyes glimmered.

_I was hoping you’d say that._

He clenched his fist, and four swelling beads of fire went soaring towards them. The air shrieked, split down the middle. Beau rolled forward. Caduceus braced himself for impact. Blinding orange light silhouetted the side of Yasha’s face as she went into a rage. Fjord lunged at Eodwulf. Eodwulf yanked his icy blade from its sheath, eyes alight with murderous intent.

An inferno _exploded_ in the Court of Colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after much consideration, i’ve decided that Astrid is a pure divination wizard and Eodwulf is an evocation wizard multiclassed with eldritch knight. i have no earthly idea what they are in canon!! at the time that i’m writing this, NOBODY KNOWS FOR SURE! if they turn out to be something else, i probably won’t change it -- because knowing the way that i write, their specializations will likely be pivotal in some plot points -- but i’ve made these assumptions based on the following reasons:
> 
> 1\. Astrid lives close to Ikithon’s tower, not to mention she’s basically STATED to Caleb that she’s vying for Ikithon’s position as a head of the Assembly. It’s reasonable to assume that she’s a valuable resource and CLOSE to Ikithon because of her ability to KNOW shit, plus she’s physically close by in case Ikithon needs to ask her a personal favor for information. Having a divining specialist close to you is invaluable for a guy with a lot of enemies. Her personality kinda matches that specialization too; value in knowing things, you know? Also, it makes a lot of sense to me that the “higher up” members of the Assembly are the pure wizards, and the people that get their hands dirty are eldritch knights, rogues, or multiclassed wizards.
> 
> 2\. Eodwulf was guarding the Luxon Beacon when we met him in canon, and he didn’t seem like the personality for conjuration (summoning stuff) or abjuration (defense and support). So that left evocation (making things go boom), which makes sense for a guard. Plus, if he multiclassed with Eldritch Knight, it would make him a much more effective close-range fighter, as well as justifying why he’s so BIG compared to other mages.
> 
> 3\. The ways they killed their families. Astrid poisoned her parents, which was an efficient and impersonal way to do it. That speaks to her personality. But y’know what’s scary as shit about Eodwulf’s method of murdering his parents???? CALEB SAID THEY WAITED OUTSIDE FOR HIM. Which means… Eodwulf has been conditioned to exploit his capability for violence and get hands-on. He specializes in getting personal with his destruction.
> 
> i was totally listening to Darkest Dungeon combat music while i was writing that last part, and you KNOW I'M GONNA BE DOING IT AGAIN FOR NEXT CHAPTER
> 
> FIRST BIG FIGHT SCENE!! WISH ME LUCK!!


	9. Death by Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord, Caduceus, Yasha, and Beau clash with the volstruckers. Meanwhile, Astrid pays an unfortunate visit to Ambition's Call...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evocation Wizard 8 + Eldritch Knight 6 + Rogue 2 = A M O N S T E R. 
> 
> (yes. i built Eodwulf’s stats. level 16 multiclass because he’s literally a senior scourger if not THE Senior Scourger + Team Leader. also i gave him an icy magic sword because fire/ice motif… anyway, rip, his abilities stacked WAY BETTER THAN I WAS EXPECTING THEM TO..)
> 
> Dragonbubbles14, i love you. this one’s for you. <3

Emmeline sat in a carriage, silently turning the transmuter’s stone in her fingers.

Earlier that afternoon, she had taken the magical amulet to a jeweler. At her request -- without disassembling the anti-divination runes within it -- the jewelers had lengthened the chain and added an extension of fine silver chain beneath the amulet itself. A setting for the asymmetrical amber gem hung at the end of it all; long enough now to easily tuck between her breasts and into her dress. Out of sight…

A muffled explosion echoed in the distance.

Emmeline sat up, startled from her thoughts, and looked towards the sound of fighting. The fog was too thick. She couldn’t see anything.

_What was that?_

...

It started with flame.

The oxygen in Beau’s very lungs was stripped away, consumed by the wall of dry heat that roared over her. She was rolling before she even thought about it -- away from Caduceus and Yasha -- as the first fireball rolled over them. The second explosion caught her side, the wrappings on her right hand bursting into flame. The third shrieked over her head like an arrow splitting the air, exploding behind her, and the fourth caught her _full_ in the face. For an instant, she was sure that her face was melting like ice cream in the sun...

Blackened blisters rose and popped on Beau’s shoulders, leaving her stumbling, but her eyes _hardened._ For a moment, she saw double, but she was still up. 

Yasha charged through the fire, badly burned, but alive, swinging recklessly at the scourger halfling closest to them. 

Fjord was clutching at his arm and bowed in half. The exposed green skin beneath his armor had been scorched black, his leathers cracked and peeled like half-burnt parchment. The sounds of battle around her echoed, her ears pealing with a high-pitched tone...

Then a body hit the ground behind her. Beau turned instinctively to look, and the smell of burned meat hit her nose. Caduceus’s flesh was horrifically blackened, lips split and bleeding, his eyes fluttering in shock, even in unconsciousness.

Beau’s heart leaped into her throat. “YASHA!!”

Yasha whirled as two more scourgers engaged their monk, seeing their cleric’s unconscious body. 

Beau was instantly on the defensive, teeth bared and eyes wild; the Belabor was a whirling _streak_ of silver. 

“DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ TOUCH HIM!”

The air curled into a fist around the edge of her quarterstaff. It _swung_ and a scourger went _flying,_ smacking into a pillar hard enough to crack it and hitting the ground like a sack of rocks. Beau smashed the other in the face. The crack of cartilage ached in her knuckles.

Adrenaline pumping, hard pounding, rage screaming, Yasha turned her back on her opponent; two cold flashes of pain slashed across her back, but the pain -- and the _throb_ of poison -- was distant. She fell to her knees beside Caduceus and laid her hands on him. Desperation pulsed through her. _Please, please, please…!_

The aasimar’s hands glowed with a blue, crackling, radiant energy… and Caduceus’s eyes flew open.

“AH! _O-Oh_ my--!” He clenched his hands over his chest -- gasping for air -- and struggled to his feet. Instantly, mushrooms and moss began to grow within his own wounds, spreading outwards and upwards, popping with dusky golden spores. For an instant, he was a kaleidoscope of colorful plant life, lichen flourishing and blossoming over him…

Another fireball screamed towards him and Yasha. Spitting, blazing magic exploded over both of them, fritzing and flickering over the mushrooms that covered Caduceus. Yasha _roared_ in agony.

Two scourgers leapt onto Beau. 

Eodwulf parted the flames around them, searing orange tongues dancing at the edges of their cloaks; his focus succeeded, and his allies did not burn. He swiftly changed his focus to the brown-skinned monk, whispering softly under his breath… and clenched his fist.

The dull, throbbing toll — like a funeral bell — shook Beau’s brain. Capillaries burst in her eyes. She tasted _metal._

Fjord saw his first mate twist and lash at the assassins flanking her, black veins racing from her ears and eyes. A steady stream of blood began to pour from her ears. Necrotic pain wracked her body; her blisters opened wider, festering and rotting in the air. **_“Fuck--!!”_ **

A ball of guano and sulfur burst into flame somewhere to his left. Liquid fire screamed over Beau _again,_ her skin cracking like overcooked pastry in the heat. 

Fjord saw a blade sink into the side of her neck. His heart _froze. “BEAU!_ God, Beau— _FUCK!”_

Beau’s eyes rolled back. She hit the ground, fumbling instinctively at her neck -- gushing blood -- even as she was falling unconscious. Like time was slowing down, Fjord saw the flames dance across her skin, slowly consuming the edges of her clothes, flickering in the dark as she fell.

He lunged for her. 

Eodwulf swung at the back of the half-orc’s leg. A line of white-hot pain sliced across Fjord’s hamstring. He stumbled and grabbed at the blood pouring from the back of his leg, eyes wild as he whirled on the senior volstrucker. Nowhere to go, Fjord snarled and lashed out at him with the glowing blade of Dwueth’var.

Eodwulf brought up his sword -- Winterbraut, _Winter’s Bride_ \-- and clashed with him. 

Metal ground against metal, magic spitting like sparks as the half-orc’s seething yellow eyes met his. Frothing, icy mist wrapped around them both, Eodwulf’s magical blade glowing incandescent against Fjord’s face. Dweth’var shimmered blue in the reflection of the scourger’s dark eyes...

“Surrender,” Eodwulf whispered, Zemnian accent heavy and _cold._ “You _will not_ win this fight.”

Fjord _snarled_ into his face.

Meanwhile, behind them, mushrooms faded and withered, _smoldering_ from the fire, and crumbled to pale dust. Still charred but no longer on death’s door, Caduceus grunted in pain and used his staff to get back up. “We have to get out of here,” he grunted. “They’re too powerful.”

“Please-- Caduceus, she’s--!!”

Yasha cried out, teeth bared and head whipping around to engage the third scourger. The rogue danced out of reach.

“I got it,” The firbolg growled, eyes burning. Beau was twitching on the ground as a volstrucker mounted her, raising his blood-soaked dagger. That terrible, keen edge shone visibly, even in the fog. Caduceus took a deep, slow breath, letting everything fade out around him… and he extended a hand towards the assassin, reaching deep inside himself. Memories. The sight of men and women and children. Dead by poison. By blade. By _disease…_ And, for once, just for an _instant,_ Caduceus allowed himself to be _consumed_ by the conscious desire to **_do harm._ **

The spell anchored in his target.

As if something vital had been pulled loose, Caduceus saw the human twitch… and choke. The figure jerked and fell back. His dagger clattered across the courtyard as he fell onto his back, clawing at his throat.

Yasha stalked up to him, took one look at his purple face -- spattered in pus that was drooling constantly from white, diseased eyes, swollen tongue protruding from his lips -- and brought Skingorger down on him. 

She chopped his body in _half._ Blood and steaming intestines spilled out onto the ground, still clenching and struggling to work.

Yasha’s wild eyes fixed on the second volstrucker. The halfling woman scrambled away from her, disengaging and disappearing into the fog; the barbarian roared and pursued as Caduceus rushed over to Beau, laying his hand on their monk.

Caduceus whispered a fervent prayer. Pink moss sprouted over the gushing wound in Beau’s throat…

Beau’s eyes flew open. She sucked in a wild, wet gasp and choked, coughing desperately for air. She fumbled at the side of her neck, felt the dust falling away from her blood-sticky, half-rotting skin, and looked up at Caduceus. “O-Oh, hey…” she croaked, stumbling to her feet. “Thanks.”

“Just looking out for our first mate,” Caduceus whispered, trying to help her up.

“Aw fuck yeah…” Beau slurred. She straightened up, looking around through squinted, bloody eyes. “Where’s the fuckin’ _wagon_ that hit me?”

“Oh boy, okay, c’mon… _Fjord!”_

Caduceus called across the courtyard, where their captain was locked in combat. “This is bad! We need to _leave!”_

“I WOULD _LOVE_ TO!! IF YOU HAVE ANY _SUGGESTIONS,_ THAT WOULD BE _AMAZING!”_

“I lost ‘em!” Yasha barked from somewhere to the left.

“Oh _good!!”_ Fjord yelled, eyes wild. “More fuckin’ magic rogues hiding in this _bullshit!”_

He shoved against Eodwulf and _slashed_ at him, blade slicing through the air, just barely catching the edge of his waist once-- _twice,_ punching a blinding flash of smiting magic into the second. 

A few drops of blood spattered across the ground. The volstrucker grunted and disengaged from him, sliding away, radiance aching in his wounds as he whirled on all of them. Eodwulf focused on his blade, pupils contracting, a vicious chill spreading all the way up his sword. Arcane sigils burst softly into the air. His fingers hooked into the fog and drew one, two, three, _four,_ ** _five_** magic circles, each one _roiling_ with frigid evocation energy. 

Hot tears pressed at the back of his eyes. “Es war nicht genug, dass du ihn _hattest_.” 

_It wasn’t enough that you_ **_had_ ** _him._

Eodwulf’s tears spilled over in fury. He spread his arms out and _slammed_ his palm against the hilt of his sword, eyes glowing white. “Du musstest ihn auch aus _meiner Welt_ nehmen?!” he roared, wrath and magic surging through his core.

 _You had to take him from_ **_my world,_ ** _too?!_

All five circles coalesced, unleashing a sixty-foot cone of sheer cold, blasting over all four of them. Not a single one was out of range, all taking the spell at full force...

And Fjord collapsed.

Caduceus collapsed.

Beau -- already horribly damaged, nearly on death’s door -- collapsed.

Yasha stumbled… but she stayed up. Ice crawling like white veins up her sword, fingers turning dark from frostbite… but she stayed up. Three scourgers closed in on her warily, but they were only shadows in the corners of her eyes as she saw what had just happened… Alarm bells were going off in the distance, echoing in eardrums damaged by heat and cold… and the bodies of her friends were limp on the ground. Sealed there against the stone with tendrils of frost, slowly crawling up their limbs…

“S-Stop…!”

Yasha fell to her knees, raising her hands. _“Stop…!”_ she begged. Her throat threatened to close up, nearly suffocating her as she let her weapon fall to the ground with a deafening clatter. “Please… Please _stop…!_ I-I’ll come with you…! Just _stop. Please!”_

Eodwulf stared at her, eyes dark and wide. His hands were shaking. Overbright with tears.

Yasha sniffed and swallowed, looking at him. _Imploring_ him. _“Please…”_

In the corners of her eyes, the scourgers were not moving. They stayed where they were, never taking their eyes off of Yasha. Waiting for instructions. 

Eodwulf let out a low, shaky breath… and lowered his magical blade. Yasha exhaled in bitter relief. She couldn’t relax, her eyes cast down, her head bowed in surrender as she listened to the click of his boots. He crossed the distance between him and…

Where was he going? He wasn’t coming towards her! He was going towards--!!

Yasha’s head whipped up just as Eodwulf swung his sword down. 

Beau twitched. Blue eyes opened for just an instant, staring up at the moon as every one of her muscles tensed… then relaxed. The life drained from her eyes.

The scourger wiped his cold white blade clean on her sash. 

The monk was now laying in two pieces, cut cleanly in half at the waist, just as Yasha had done to his comrade.

 **_“NO!!”_ ** Yasha roared and lunged, but suddenly the scourgers were upon her. Rage boiled in her veins as she ripped an arm free of the humans, struggling against them, her despair ringing through the air. Chains closed on her wrists. The alarm bells continued still. The fog had cleared in the immediate area, droplets utterly vaporized by the fireballs. Yasha let out a high, broken cry of sorrow and _sobbed,_ her forehead resting against the ground. _“No…!_ Beau…!”

Suddenly, a regal voice rang through the Court of Colors. “And just _what_ is going on here?!”

Eodwulf sheathed his sword and turned, eyes dark.

A slender, middle-aged half elf -- flanked by nearly twenty armed clerics and monks -- was approaching the courtyard, dressed in the fine, dark blue silks of a High Curator of the Cobalt Soul. An agender figure, their short red hair was mussed with hurry, their intelligent hazel eyes flickering over the collection of dead and unconscious bodies. Eodwulf had to think for a moment, but he recognized them. 

Yudala Fon. Herald of the Rexxentrum Archive of the Cobalt Soul.

Yudala stopped in the center of the courtyard, hazel eyes locked on the bisected corpse of an Expositor.

Eodwulf clenched his jaw. _Shit._

Yudala turned their eyes onto Yasha, the aasimar sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the street, pulling and struggling against her chains. “What is the _meaning_ of this?” the High Curator demanded, looking at Eodwulf.

The Herald’s accompaniment of monks and clerics -- all in the colors of the Cobalt Soul -- spread out amongst the injured. 

Eodwulf’s eyes darted amongst them. Political faux pas aside, his team was outnumbered. They had to back down. He made a subtle hand gesture to his fellow volstruckers; they backed off, giving the Cobalt Soul clerics space to stabilize the half orc and the firbolg. A cleric bent down to examine the corpse of Beauregard Lionett, but it was _not difficult_ to tell what she had died from.

Yudala Fon walked up to him, their eyes cold. “I _said,_ what is the _meaning of this?”_

Eodwulf pulled out the officially sealed letter, never breaking eye contact with the High Curator. “I had official orders to question a member of this group. They resisted.”

“I imagine it must have been one hell of a _resistance_ to warrant this type of a response,” Yudala snapped. “You’ve killed an Expositor of the Cobalt Soul.”

“And they’ve killed _two_ of my own,” Eodwulf growled.

“I only see one.”

“They’ve killed _two.”_

Yudala held out their hand. “Please allow me to see your orders.”

Eodwulf’s hackles went _up._ His fists tightened silently, turning over his options. The first option -- to attack the head of the Cobalt Soul and make off with his prisoner -- was _not_ an option at all. They were already rousing the members of the Nein that could be roused. In moments, they would be unloading accusations and trying to spin a narrative. An Expositor was dead. A scourger was also dead. Somewhere in the world, Bren was dead.

Bren. 

Bren, with the fire in his eyes nearly snuffed out, holding himself in the basement of the Sanitorium.

Bren, dizzy and gazing up at him like a stranger, wrapped tightly in a stained straightjacket. Bren, with soft red hair and a sweet look in his face, when he was young. 

Bren… rotting in the ground, somewhere in the world…

Eodwulf’s face contorted with pain. He pulled out Astrid’s order and handed it to Yudala. 

The Herald opened it, scanning it quietly… then lowered it, analyzing the look on the senior scourger’s face. After a moment, they glanced over their shoulder; witnesses were starting to stray closer, whispering and staring with wide eyes. 

Caduceus sucked in a breath, his pink eyes turning in their sockets. He choked, coughed, and crawled over to Beauregard despite the pleading of the Cobalt clerics. He struggled to put her back together with shaking hands. He could hear nothing but the ringing in his frostbitten ears, but quickly, the other clerics realized what he was doing. They carefully helped to align her insides, pushing her firmly back together across the clean line that had been cauterized cold by Eodwulf’s blade.

Pulling out a small chunk of diamond, he pressed it shakily to Beau’s chest, and cast Revivify.

“Gather the dead,” Yudala ordered their monks. They turned a glare on Eodwulf. “We will continue this conversation _inside, Herr Volstrucker.”_

Eodwulf did not argue. It was not a scourger’s place to speculate on the purpose of his orders. That was his handler’s job. He did not make eye contact with Fjord Stone. He did not look at Caduceus Clay. He did not look at Yasha Nydoorin. He went inside at the bidding of the Cobalt Soul, a strong hand tight around Winterbraut’s hilt, even as the moon began to rise overhead…

It had ended with ice.

...

Emmeline went deathly still, listening sorely for any more explosions…

Silence. Nothing.

She knew the sound of a fireball when she heard one. The high-pitched keen and the resulting, _gut-churning_ explosion -- thick with pressurized fire that burst outward like a devil’s roar -- was unmistakable, even at a distance. And there had been a _bewildering_ number… as far away as they were. A mile away? Maybe less?

She was halfway through the Tangles, the trappings of Rexxentrum’s rich middle class passing the windows of her carriage. The sun had barely set. She had only left Astrid’s house in the Shimmer Ward an _hour_ ago. What in the world could be happening _here?_

Emmeline opened the slider to speak to her driver. “Please hurry,” she ordered softly. “If you get me there within the hour, you’ll have an extra gold piece.”

The horses lurched forward. Emmeline muffled a gasp as she was pressed back into her seat, bracing herself as the carriage reached the borderline of safe speeds within the city limits; her fingernails dug subconsciously into the seat. She hoped it was nothing. She hoped it was just the Assembly doing its damned _casual_ work, as always… but she had _never_ heard that many fireballs at once.

...

Astrid’s skirts brushed against the grass. She stood before the gate of Ambition’s Call.

Trent Ikithon’s tower -- the second-southernmost tower of the Candles -- towered above her, a multi-spired behemoth constructed of brass and red brick, twisting into the dark sky like a monolithic tribute to mankind’s success. The silver light of Catha was suffocated by a courtyard dense with adult oaks, only stray spots of moonlight surviving to touch the grass beyond a gate of dark iron.

Bracing herself, Astrid pulled out a small knife and sliced the meat of her palm. Pressing it to a rune on the side of the gate, she imagined the arcane jolt as her blood kickstarted a reaction. Somewhere in Ambition’s Call, a bell sounded or a flame flickered close to Trent. 

It was announcing herself to him. An unexpected visit. 

Normally, she only did this for emergencies. It set her stomach twisting with nausea. But… this time was different. This was important.

Bren had always been special to Master Ikithon. He would want to hear it from her.

There was a second of silence. Two seconds. Five. Ten. For a moment, Astrid felt her stomach drop. Maybe he did not _want_ to see her. Did he already know that Bren was dead somehow? Had she waited too long to tell him? Wait. Wait. What if this had been a test? What if this had been a test to see if she would tell him right away or try to handle it on her own? Had she made the wrong decision?! Was Bren not actually dead? What was going on? What did Trent want from her?! Oh _fuck. Oh gods--_

Suddenly, the gate creaked… and swung open.

Astrid exhaled, shoulders squared despite the sudden, crippling anxiety that had struck her like a hammer. She raised her skirts and hurried onto his private grounds. Before he changed his mind.

The gate swung closed behind her. It clicked shut. Astrid felt like she was going to throw up, standing in the shadows of the oaks.

_Calm down. Calm. The fuck. Down._

Astrid took a deep breath… held it… and let it go, tasting the cool autumn air. She allowed it to clear her mind.

She could not go to him shaken. He would see it. She had to be steadier than she had ever been.

Even when it was so easy to remember Bren and be overwhelmed by grief. It was so easy to remember him during their days at the Academy. It was a sweet haven, to remember the nights that she and Bren had stuck out of the tower… into this very cluster of oaks, to steal kisses from one another and giggle over Eodwulf and whisper their dreams for the future. Bren had always been special. _Always._ Eodwulf had been… _sweet_ to her. It had been Bren’s idea to bring the big, older boy into their relationship. For a time, they were happy here, to some extent. Among these oaks. Within this tower…

Astrid’s specialty was divination magic. She should have seen it all coming. She should have known that Bren was not strong enough for the final step, to eliminate all weaknesses. And she should have seen that Eodwulf had not been strong enough to continue without a crutch. Now he was… but not without a cost.

Suddenly, a soft whisper caught her attention. A human one. An old man’s voice -- Trent -- quieter than the rustling of orange and copper leaves.

Astrid took one last breath and walked towards that voice.

Among the trees, fog, and moonlight, she found her mentor. Bowed over the leaves of a dying strawberry plant, Trent was whispering almost sweetly to the plant… through old, cracked lips and yellowing teeth…

As he turned, Astrid saw what he was holding. A handful of dead ladybugs.

Trent turned his palm towards the ground, letting their tiny corpses patter and bounce across the grass. She waited for him to finish, watching as he brushed his hands off slowly, thoughtfully. “Did your experiment go well?” she asked him, her Zemnian flawless as she spoke to him.

Trent _smiled_ at her. “Yes… It did…”

_Disgusting old man._

Astrid nodded, folding her hands behind her. “Master, I have important news.”

Trent’s smile faded. 

Despite her spiteful thoughts, her stomach subconsciously flopped the opposite way. She waited for his reaction. He waited for her to continue, looking more impatient by the second. 

_“And?”_ Trent finally hissed softly.

“And-- there is no easy way to say it,” Astrid murmured. She was instinctively rubbing the small wound in her palm, taking solace in the warm, familiar sensation of blood under her fingernails. Even if it _was_ her own.

She looked down at the dry, crumbling bush. “Bren is dead.”

Trent’s expression did not change.

For what felt like an eternity, Astrid stood there. Hyperaware of everything around her, she told herself that she was firmly used to this sensation. She lived beside him. She had learned to be his right hand. She would _not_ be intimidated by an old man…

“How do you know this?”

Astrid looked up. She hadn’t even realized she was looking at the ground. “An anonymous tipper,” she told him. “She possessed information that a witness could not have otherwise had.”

The skin around Trent’s eyes tightened. “What information?”

“She had… a letter. I had sent it to Miss Jester Lavorre at the Pillow Trove in Zadash, before the battle at the Chantry of the Dawn. We knew that he was travelling with them, and--”

“And this was enough… to make you believe that this _tipper_ was reliable?”

Astrid opened her mouth.

She closed it, her blood running cold.

Fuck. She hadn’t asked the woman’s name.

She had been _persuasive_ . And Astrid had been too _fucking distracted_ and _fucking distraught_ by the news of Bren’s _fucking death._

She had just sent her away. She hadn’t even taken a hair sample. 

She had _fucked up._

Fuck.

_Fuck._

**_Fuck._ **

“Fräulein Astrid.”

Trent’s cold, steady voice brought her wide, startled eyes back up, Astrid staring at him like a mouse in the eyes of a cobra. His expression slowly faded from anger… to pure _disappointment._ No. No. He couldn’t be disappointed in her. He couldn’t.

“Have you attempted to scry him?” Trent asked quietly, _patiently._

Astrid was white in the face. She was squeezing her wound so hard that she could feel blood trickling down the back of her dress. The cut hurt now. Good. Maybe he would consider it penance enough. Oh gods, who was she kidding?! This wasn't enough! She had let a _witness_ go! _It wasn’t fucking enough!_

“No…” she confessed. “I thought it was useless. If he was dead, the spell wouldn’t take. And if he was alive--”

“But you assumed he was dead. Why?”

“I am sorry, Herr Ikithon. I will not make assumptions again.”

Trent shook his head at her -- slowly -- in disappointment. 

It would have hurt less if he had slapped her. She would have felt less _sick,_ less _angry._ Was he just playing with her?! Was this how he got his evening fucking _kicks?!_ Everything was starting to twist up inside her chest. Was Bren actually dead?! Who was that woman?! Astrid was instantly thinking back, scrambling for details of that interaction. Had she touched that woman? Could there have been an illusion?!

“When I gave you this position, what did I tell you?” Trent murmured.

“Never make assumptions,” Astrid echoed softly, disappointment and _anger_ constricting her chest like iron chains. _“Never_ assume anyone is telling you the whole truth. _Always_ double check. Never take _anything_ as gospel...”

“Gutes Mädchen.” _Good girl._

Trent stepped forward, quietly and coolly invading her personal space. His shoe crushed the tiny bodies of ladybugs. She could hear the crunch as he gripped her chin, forcing her to look _up._ Astrid felt her stomach twist and clench, but she met his eyes.

 _“Scry,”_ Trent ordered her, black eyes hard and cruel. “If Caleb Widogast was dead, I would _know._ And I certainly would not need **_you_ ** _to tell me.”_

Astrid nodded softly.

“And what will you do... when you find this anonymous person that deceived you...?” 

“What would you have me do?” she murmured.

“Bring them to me,” Trent told her, his voice like a venemous snake coiled in the underbrush. “They deceived you once. You obviously cannot handle a person like that, so I will.”

“I can handle them, Herr Ikithon.”

“You obviously cannot.”

“I _can._ Please.” Astrid knelt before him, her face pale, her internal organs clenched with humiliation. “Allow me to find them. Allow me to question them.”

Trent considered her for a long moment… then sighed quietly, resigned. “Very well.”

“Thank you, master.”

“You get one more chance.”

“I will not let you down.”

“No. You will not.” Trent reached into his robes. Astrid did not rise to her feet again, eyes flickering subconsciously to the fine crystal orb that the archmage had pulled from his robes. He offered his scrying focus to her.

She reached up to take it. Trent pulled it away. Astrid hesitated.

“Other hand.”

Astrid swallowed and reached up with her bloody hand. Red had started to trickle down her wrist, soaking into her sleeve. Three of her fingers were slick with blood.

A small, curling smile curved Trent’s lips. He let her take hold of his focus and released it, smoothing his features to blankness once more. He stood there, watching the woman that had knelt before him, focusing for ten minutes as the trees rustled around them.

...

* * *

Brown Mother Sweet Friend was making happy noises. High, soft. Then low. Then a little noise on top. And she was talking while she did it! Was she making those noises at _him...?_

* * *

Caleb sat on the kitchen floor, absolutely transfixed by Veth’s singing.

“I’m a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout!” Veth sang, occasionally stealing a glimpse at Caleb’s wide, marveling expression and biting back a grin. She smiled to herself and tucked the last of the clean dishes away onto the rack. “When I get all steamed up, hear me shout!”

She leaned down, lowering her voice comedically. “Just tip! Me over and _pour me out,”_ she cooed.

Caleb stared at her, puzzled by the change, but then he smiled happily up at her. “Ah.”

He pointed at her mouth. “Ah!”

“Yes, that’s singing!”

He frowned and pointed at her mouth again. “Ah. Ah.”

Veth giggled and covered her face. “Oh no no! I’m no good at singing!”

“Ah!!” Caleb insisted.

Jester poked her head into the kitchen, a soft smile overtaking her features as she watched Veth and Caleb. She snuck up quietly behind him, putting a finger to her lips when Veth noticed her. Once she was close enough, she swooped in and hugged him around the shoulders. “Sneak _attaaaaaack!!”_

Caleb yelped and planted a whole hand on the side of her face, staring up at her like a startled cat... then he recognized her. “Ah!” he exclaimed, greeting her excitedly. He petted the side of her face and touched her curls, instantly distracted by her soft hair.

Jester giggled, unbothered by his weak slap. She crossed her eyes at him, sticking her forked tongue out at him. “Bleeeeeh!” 

Caleb stared at her expression... then stuck out just the tip of his own tongue, blepping at Jester.

Jester giggled and grinned mischievously over at Veth. "I had an idea! Something I think Cayleb is really going to like!" she informed Veth.

Veth looked curious. “Oh? What’s that?”

Caleb peered up at the sound of Veth speaking, blinking dumbly and still blepping. 

Meanwhile, Jester continued, gesturing animatedly. "It's fingerpainting! I used to love doing it when I was little. Mama and Bluud would do it with me too! I bought some paints and found some old canvases we could use! Or we could paint on the walls of my room! I think he would really like the colors and the feeling!"

She looked over at Caleb, bursting into giggles at his little blep. "Oh, Cayleb! You’re so silly! You look just like Frumpkin."

She gently poked the tip of his tongue with her finger, blepping back at him.

Caleb tried to bite her finger.

Jester yelped in surprise, pulling her hand back. "Cayleb, no! Don't bite me!" she ordered him. She tried to sound stern, but it was ruined by the breathless giggles that bubbled up from her chest. She planted a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose. “I’m not for _eating!”_

Caleb pulled his tongue back into his mouth, blushing and staring at her.

Standing, Jester pulled him to his feet, took his hand, and offered her other one to Veth. "Want to join us?"

“I certainly do!” Veth exclaimed. She took off her apron, dropped it on the floor, and hopped down from her stool. “I wish we could take him to see your mother. If he liked my singing, imagine what would happen if he witnessed the Ruby of the Sea!”

"Oh my _gosh,_ it would probably make his _head_ explode. But I think you have a wonderful voice, Veth! I meaaaan, it’s not my _mama,_ but nobody is my mama except my _mama.”_

Caleb gently nibbled the blue hand tangled up in his own, watching her face for more smiles.

“Hey, hey, no biting, Cayleb!” Jester scolded him. 

He frowned, but he gently took his mouth off her hand, leaving a little bit of drool on her knuckles. He sulked.

Jester giggled and patted his head. “It’s okay, Cayleb.”

She took the Veth's hand and pulled both of them up the stairs to her room. Caleb stumbled on the stairs slightly, but he and Veth followed easily enough; throwing open the door to her room, Jester opened her arms wide. She had several old canvases spread out on the floor, and a rainbow of bright, colorful children’s paints spread out around them. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, pink, purple, and black.

She gestured grandly to the setup. "Ta da!"

Caleb looked at it all in innocent confusion. “Ah?”

Jester pulled Caleb to sit next to her on the ground, leaving space for Veth on her other side. She set a canvas in front of each of them, before picking up a bright pink paint and dipping her finger into it. "Yeah! Look, Cayleb!"

She traced out a pink heart. She gestured to the paints, spread out like a rainbow in front of them. "We can play with any of these! All of these! And I thiiiiiiiiiink... this _green_ paint is really pretty! Let’s play with that!”

She picked up the green paint and took Caleb's hand.

He mumbled indecipherably and watched in wonder as she curled his hand into a fist, with his pointer finger extended. She gently dipped the finger in the paint, then guided it to the canvas, helping him draw the big, goofy grin and crooked googly eyes of the Captain Tusktooth symbol. 

"Look, Cayleb! You drew that!" she giggled, looking over at him eagerly.

* * *

Color!! COLOR! There was color! It was on him. Why was it on him? Blue was touching him, touching the white. Line? Shape?

Eyes?

Mouth. Teeth.

Who was that?

Caleb squinted at the face that had suddenly appeared. It wasn’t moving. It was just smiling. It was a little weird...

He poked the stranger on the paper. A dot of color appeared! Oh!!

Caleb stared down at his finger. What??

* * *

Jester giggled, dipping her own finger in the green paint and drawing a vine. “It’s called finger painting, Cayleb. You dip your fingers in the paint and draw!”

She took the yellow paint and turned Caleb’s head to watch her. He blinked widely and looked at her in puzzlement. She dipped her finger in the paint, lowered her hand to the canvas, and painted a little circle with five tiny lines around it. “See? It’s the sun!”

Caleb reached out, wiping a line of green down her cheek.

Jester shrieked and laughed. “Cayleb!!” 

She placed a little dot of yellow paint on the tip of his nose. “You’re supposed to paint the _canvas,_ silly! Not me! I am not for painting _or_ eating! Naughty _naughty!”_

* * *

Caleb's eyes crossed. He wiped at the yellow paint, smeared it, spotted the color on his hand, then he gasped! He had discovered the secret!

Eyes still crossed, he blepped at her again, successfully copying her funny face from earlier. “Mm!”

He immediately grinned and looked at her for approval.

* * *

Jester giggled, leaning forward to place a kiss on his forehead. He perked up. “You’re so _cute,_ Cayleb.”

Veth offered him the tubs of red and orange paint. “Here! Try these!”

Caleb put his whole hand in the orange paint. “Ah.”

The blue tiefling and fat halfling woman exclaimed, grabbing napkins and paper, scrambling to catch the orange spatters. The redhead began to toss paint at the walls, grinning excitedly… and the two invisible orbs that were watching them finally faded.

…

Astrid came back to herself, eyes rolling back into place.

She looked down at the crystal orb… and saw Trent’s fingers on it as well. Her gaze tracked up his arm, up to his face…

Trent came back from his own scrying only moments after she did. Astrid swallowed, as she realized he had done the same spell. He was checking up on her information, in case she tried to lie to him about what was in the vision. He wasn’t even bothering to hide it…

“He is alive, but something is… _wrong_ with him,” Astrid whispered. She cleared her throat. “He is not himself. And he does not have the amulet anymore...”

Trent said nothing. He tightened his grip around the scrying eye. She let go of it, watching as her blood glimmered on the cold, smooth crystal surface; the red from her body smeared across Trent’s fingers. 

As she watched, Trent licked a streak of her blood off his thumb. He never broke eye contact.

Astrid suppressed a shiver of disgust.

Then, suddenly, Trent straightened, brows furrowed. His eyes locked on some point, far in the distance. 

Astrid looked up at him in alarm. “...What is it?”

Her mentor’s eyes snapped to her. Suddenly, they were dark and _furious._ “Did you send _agents_ to _apprehend_ members of Bren’s party at the Court of Colors?” Trent hissed. His knuckles were _white_ around his scrying eye, bloodless with rage. “Did _you_ send scourgers out before you even fucking followed up on your _facts…?”_

Astrid stared up at him, her heart falling into her stomach. The blood drained from her face. “I thought--”

“You _thought? You_ thought?! I am starting to believe that you did not _think_ at all!”

“I wanted to find out what happened to Bren! I--”

“Useless _fucking girl.”_ Trent snarled and stuffed his soiled scrying eye into his robes. “Now I must go to the Cobalt Soul and clean up your mess. What fucking _use_ are you? Go home.”

“Master, I can fix this--!”

“GO. _HOME._ Only contact me when this _bizarre_ case of incompetence has passed.”

Trent’s long, bloodied fingers twisted in a single arcane gesture, and he vanished from sight with a grisly pop of conjuration energy. Air rushed in to fill the space he had occupied. There was a thud of finality… then silence. Astrid was left alone -- kneeling in the grass at Ambition’s Call -- dripping blood and shivering with fear and _fury._ It would take _years_ to earn Trent’s trust back after this! Such a… _fucking… elementary_ mistake…!

“Goddammit…!” she snarled softly, burying her face in her bleeding hands. Her eyes were clenched shut, overwhelmed with angry tears. “What the _fuck_ is going on…?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, Ep 109, 110, and 111 premiered while i was hiatusing and hhggghghh gosh. I’m scared. 
> 
> Also, like, it wasn’t verbally confirmed but I hear that Eodwulf is supposedly a wizard/cleric hybrid? I’m keeping my evocation rogue-knight build because… tbh i just think it’s cooler, and way more damage effective. THIS IS MY CANON DIVERGENT FIC!! I DO WHAT I WANT!! However, i AM glad that we got to see what Astrid and Eodwulf canonly act like in Trent’s presence, at least in front of others. (see the dinner scene in the latter half of Ep 110… ugh the SLIME!!!!! AND ALSO NOW WE KNOW TRENT’S MOTIVATIONS AND FAVORITES even though i’m SURE he’s not telling the truth about curing Caleb of his Feeblemind… and since my fic diverted before they went back to Rexxentrum in canon THE M9 DON’T KNOW ANY OF THIS YET)
> 
> it’s given me a lot of interesting ideas and headcanons that i’m implementing into this fic. i got such a POWERFUL “i still love you after all these years” vibe from Eodwulf to Caleb…… ack, my heart...
> 
> anyway. comment, please! it’s the only way for me to know you like my stuff. <3


	10. Two Green Cloaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emmeline arrives at Bäer Haus - a teeming dive bar in Rexxentrum's Mudtop Ward - to meet an old friend and connection with the Locksmith rebels. Meanwhile, Jester has an argument with Artagan over his attitude on Rumblecusp, resulting in unforeseen consequences for another of the Traveler's disciples.

Jester picked up one of the dozens of finger paintings that Caleb had done; a massive smear of orange and yellow, with brown thumbprints spotted all across the middle and green squiggles beneath. A vague green triangle with a brown streak held a blue dot, clumsily streaked across the still-wet painting. “Are these sunflowers?” she cooed. “Awww!”

She turned it around, showing Veth. “Look! It kinda looks like a lady watering sunflowers!”

Veth nodded uncertainly, cocking her head to look at it at another angle. “Uhhh… yeah! Kinda abstractionist, but yeah! I can see that.”

The two women resumed crawling around, gathering up all the paintings Caleb had created, as well as the ungodly _mess_ that he had created. For the last three hours, they had been entertaining their wizard, but it had definitely taken its toll on the floor. Not to mention the furniture. Flecks and drops of multicolored paint had landed on nearly every unprotected surface. Not even the ceiling had been spared.

Meanwhile, Caleb plunged his entire hand into the orange paint again. He let out a soft sound of wonder, wiggling his fingers in the cool, colorful liquid. Slowly, he started to draw it out...

Jester squealed in alarm. “Cayleb!! Ahh! Don’t throw it everywhere again!”

She reached out and grabbed his hand. Caleb immediately went still, staring at her with wide eyes, watching it as she pressed it quickly to a spare bit of paper. A heavy, sloppy handprint. The color of tangerines.

* * *

Suddenly... Caleb went still, slowly cocking his head the other way... and stared down at the sloppy, bright orange paint.

It reminded him of... something. 

Orange. Bright. Hot. Fingers. Hands.

* * *

Jester watched as Caleb peered down at the paints. He had been moving clumsily for a while, just as he had been the past couple of days, but this seemed… different. He was acting as if the colors _mesmerized_ him, made his stunted mind turn a bit faster...

Were they reminding him of something? Was that a good thing? She wasn't _sure…_

"Here, put another down right here," she told him gently, showing him how to place his next handprint so it overlapped the other. "See? Now you're making patterns! Isn't it pretty?”

* * *

Caleb turned to look at her, staring blankly at the pretty blue tiefling. He cocked his head back the other way... then peered back down at the paint. He raised his dripping fingers up off the canvas, watching the orange cold fire liquid plop down onto white.

Beautiful. But it was missing something.

Caleb frowned... and peered at the other paints.

He picked up the yellow and dumped a splash onto the canvas.

* * *

“Oooooh, what are you painting?” Jester asked eagerly, scooting a little closer. “Aaaaaare you painting more sunflowers?”

Caleb spun and dunked both hands in the red with a resounding _splat_.

Jester blinked. Orange and yellow and red? "Cayleb?" she prodded, her brows furrowing in concern. She shuffled over to his side and peered down at the twisting pools of bright colors, soaking through paper and bleeding into the wood...

* * *

Slowly, his brows furrowed too.

He took his hands out, looking at the dark red dripping down his fingers in thick rivers. 

He... did _not_ like it. He was not sure why.

Caleb whimpered softly and tried to wipe the red off his hands. "Mmm..."

Caleb whimpered, even quieter, and held his hands out to Blue Sweet Love. Trying to show her the color. It was a scary color. Why was it a scary color? Red. It wasn't the right red. Red was chunky. Chunky red! Smooth red? He wanted it off him _off him off him._ Blue Sweet Friend wasn't taking it off _fast_ enough.

"Mmmm...!" he whined in distress, wiping them on his pants. What was happening to him? Why was red a bad _color...?_

He patted her with wet crimson hands, wanting _answers._ "Mm...?"

* * *

Yellow, orange, red… oh _no…_

Jester immediately started to wipe the red off of him with her painting apron, her motions a little frantic as she hurried. Such colors normally reminded her of autumn... the changing of the leaves, _happy_ memories. Even like this, she knew that Caleb had no happy memories like that. _His_ memories of fire were not warm and crackling. His memories of fire weren’t of a warm hearth. They were hot and roaring and _painful._

She didn't know the details, she didn't need to know. She knew _enough._ Their wizard was damaged. Fire was his biggest talent and his biggest fear. 

And right now, seeing his hands coated in sticky red…. She could almost hear the buzzing of _flies..._

"Veth," Jester called, her hands shaking. "I can't get the paint off…"

Veth immediately dropped her pile of paint-damp papers and got up. “I’ll go get some wet rags. I-I’ll be right back,” she kept her voice soft and gentle, despite the sick twist in her stomach as she remembered a similar, sticky red all over Caleb’s body.

She hurried downstairs.

"It's okay, Cayleb," Jester reassured, pulling him closer so she could hug him. "The color won't hurt you. We will wash it off, okay? I promise. H-here, look at all the other pretty colors…!"

She pulled the greens and purples and blues closer. Cool colors. Night colors. Colors that he had only dipped into a _little._ "Look! This one is pretty right? Green like the outdoors? And the blue is like the biiiig blue sky! Well, it's not blue here, but… it's a good color, right?"

Jester offered him a sad smile as she picked up the blue and smeared it over the canvas. "It's my color, so it's a good color, see? Blue is a happy color, like blueberries. You like blueberries, right?"

* * *

Caleb whimpered, but his eyes flickered over to the blue. Away from the sickly red…

His shoulders relaxed, eyes glossing over as he gazed down at the soft, creamy, robin’s egg blue sky. He mumbled something shapeless, resting his head on her shoulder — red hands cradled forgotten between his thighs — as he watched her paint.

Blue Sweet Horn Friend Love was whispering to him sweetly...

* * *

Jester crooned softly and kissed the top of his paint-flecked hair. “It’s okay…” she mumbled. “S’okay…”

“It certainly is,” an eloquent voice hummed.

Jester’s brows shot up. She whipped around towards the voice. Her nerves immediately effecting him, Caleb perked up, looking around with her— and he jumped at the sight of a redheaded stranger. “AH!”

Artagan was lounging on the couch behind them, smiling at Jester. 

“Hello, dear!” the archfey purred. 

Caleb opened his mouth… then closed it. He looked almost confused at the sight of the trickster… Then he smiled crookedly. “Ah!”

“Oh yes! Lovely to see you too, Widogast,” Artagan chuckled. 

He clapped his hands down at Caleb, beckoning him like a cat. “Psspsspss. Come here, kitty kitty.”

Jester watched as Caleb tossed a discarded paintbrush at him. The brush bounced off Artagan’s forehead. The archfey blinked in surprise. Caleb cackled and ducked behind Jester, leaving red handprints on her dress as he mischievously eyed their guest. “Ah! Hahaha!”

Artagan rolled his eyes. “Handful, isn’t he? Very well then.”

He picked up the paintbrush and rolled it back over to Caleb. The wizard pounced on it and stuck it in his mouth, chewing on the wooden handle. “That was _quite_ the impassioned speech that you made on the island,” Artagan told her brightly. “And it did _just_ the trick. Well done! I _truly_ couldn’t have done it better myself.”

Jester felt a strange mix of pride and anger swell in her. Usually, it stopped…

But it kept swelling… and _swelling._

**_-“Don’t be upset?! DON’T BE UPSET?!”_ **

**_“Oh dear…” Artagan sighed, rubbing his forehead._ **

**_Jester opened her mouth, her face crumpling in anguish. “I-- I don’t m-mean to y-yell, I--!” she yelled. “But seriously!! What the fuck?! What do you mean, you don’t know if you should?!”_ **

**_The Traveler sighed, trying to be patient. “Because if you resurrect a man in front of a crowd, do you know who they’re going to tell? Everyone, Jester. They will tell everyone. And this whole venture was meant to stop people from praying to me. Not to send them home to tell everyone and their grandmother about how the high priestess of the Traveler used the power of her god to breathe life back into the dead.”_ **

**_“C-Caleb is a good man! H-He needs to come back to life!!”_ **

**_The Traveler made a face. “I mean… your friend kind of got what was coming to him.”_ **

**_Jester felt like her blood had run cold. Her wide, streaming purple eyes stared up at the Traveler in disbelief._ **

**_“Oh, Jester, come now. Don’t make that face. You don’t know the whole story,” he murmured gently. “Listen, you have two followers of the Wildmother down there, don’t you? You’ve been doing an excellent job of curbing people’s enthusiasm about me, dear. Honestly--” he chuckled softly, “--this little murder was likely the best thing to happen to our party. Hosting a celebration of arrival and then fucking off for nearly two days? Excellent. Couldn’t be prouder. I’m sorry that your friend is dead, but ask your fluffy pink friend to perform the miracles, okay? We kind of want this party to be a disaster.”-_ **

"Well," Jester snapped, surprising even herself a little bit at the sharpness of her own voice. She reached out to Caleb, pulling him away from the Traveler, into a safe hug. "You didn't leave me much _choice,_ did you, huh?"

Artagan chuckled, like she had made a joke… then he seemed to notice the _look_ on her face. 

His smile faltered, but renewed itself quickly.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, grinning at his little friend.

Jester scowled and turned her eyes on him. "What good are these powers if you don't let me use them to _protect_ the people I‘m with?!”

Artagan cocked his head in disbelief. “I— _Pardon?"_

"You were so… _so_ willing to toss away a life, a life of someone _important_ to me, just because you weren't ready for the _attention._ " She growled, her hold on Caleb tightening. Caleb frowned, squirming under her fingers. "So what next? Who’re you gonna tell me to _ignore_ the next time it’s _inconvenient_ for you? My friends? My mama?!”

“Dear, hold… Wait now—“

“They don't mean _anything_ to you, right?! So as long as you get what you want, who cares about anyone else, _right?"_

Jester didn't realize she was crying now, but she could feel Caleb trying to wipe them away with paint coated fingers. “Ah…?” Caleb whimpered softly.

Artagan’s smile faltered. 

“Ah— Jester, I’m afraid I… I don’t understand,” he laughed halfheartedly. “Are you alright? I—“

She snorted tearfully at that, shaking her head. "No. I’m not! But you wouldn't know that, would you?!”

"Jester--"

“How long’s it been since you asked me how _I_ feel?!”

" _Jester!"_

"I think you should go," she cut him off, refusing to look at him. "You got what you _wanted!_ No more _believers!_ No more _responsibility!_ So I think it's time you go."

The Traveler’s smile faded entirely. “But… _Jester,”_ he insisted. “I wasn’t trying to _upset you._ You’re being so dramatic! The boy would have been fine! Your firbolg friend would have just as easily brought him back! There is no need to be _hostile…”_

"Hostile? You call this _hostile?!"_ Jester snapped, trying desperately to keep herself from being too loud. She didn't want to scare Caleb anymore then she likely already was. "I h-had just found the horrible, mutilated _corpse_ o-of one of my very best friends! He w-was— _beaten_ to death! Alone! And afraid! It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen!! And th-then, _you_ suddenly tell me you don't want to help me?! You said _he deserved it!_ She said he deserved it! Why the _fuck_ should I trust you if you’re saying the same shit _she_ did about him?!”

“Jester, come now, _that_ is—“

“You asked me to be your priestess and _you didn’t tell me shit!!_ I-If I had known what to say, none of this would’ve happened!! Why didn’t you _tell me_ this was what it _meant?!”_

The look in her eyes didn't show anger any more. They showed pain. _Betrayal_.

Artagan stared at her in shock.

"So congratulations, Artie. No more worries about becoming a god _now._ "

Artagan stopped, lips parted in disbelief. “I…”. He cleared his throat, licked his lips, and gave her a little smile. “ _Jester._ I—“

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

Jester turned her back firmly on him, scowling, and continued to wipe Caleb’s hands off as best she could, even as her shoulders visibly shook with repressed sobs. Caleb looked worried and uneasy, but he let her.

There was a long moment of silence… and when Jester finally looked back, the archfey had disappeared.

She finally let the sound of a broken sob escape her, hands coming up to her face as she cried. She had told him to leave. She had _wanted_ him to leave.

But it still _hurt._

* * *

Caleb was quiet for a moment... 

Then, he pulled back. He touched her hands and pulled them up to his face, covering his eyes with her soft blue hands. Sapphire blue...

Blue.

Blue...

Blue was a good color… 

* * *

Jester sniffled, smiling at Caleb affectionately. She wiped away her tears and pulled him closer, hugging him tightly. "I won't let _anything_ happen to you, Cayleb. You big kitty... I promise. I will protect you this time. Okay?”

Caleb mumbled softly and nuzzled into her, contented.

“Okay…” Jester whispered.

...

Emmeline brushed dirty blonde wisps away from her face, a cold knot settled firmly in the pit of her stomach as her boots struck the familiar muck of the Mudtop Ward. Night’s chill had come down like a hammer, darkness only banished by damaged streetlights and barely livable housing; shabby apartments stacked three tiers high on all sides. The stench of mud and human waste was thankfully dulled by the cold and the rain, just beginning to fall through the mist. Emmeline drew her hood up tighter around her ears, and kept going.

Through the fog, rain, and muddy cobblestones, a familiar beacon came shining through the haze. The wooden bar sign hung over the door of a cornerside pub — a big bear, drinking from a frothing stein — carved from a single chunk of oak and stained with age.

Bäer Haus.

Emmeline stood there for a long moment, staring up at that sign.

The door clattered open, armored boots stumbling out. Emmeline jumped, startled as she pulled her cloak closer; as she watched, several young, off-duty Crownsguard emerged onto the street, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, singing a drinking song far too loudly to be sober. Emmeline watched, a harsh twinge of pain under her breastbone. 

She remembered when _he_ looked like that.

The enchantress licked her cold, chapped lips, and stepped forward on weak knees to catch the door. She went inside before she could change her mind.

As the bar door closed behind her, Emmeline took off her hood, rain-damp chills melting off her shoulders with the familiar smell of sweat, liquor, fresh bread, pretzels and beer. A hundred times moreso than her husband’s manor outside Blumenthal, the crooked wooden stairs of Bäer Haus felt like coming home. 

The enchantress slipped past a rowdy pair of halflings. “Oh. Excuse me…” she murmured softly, stepping down into the bar.

A low ceiling stood barely seven feet tall. The round, packed, heavy oak tables were older than Emmeline, the steins hand-carved and the beer so hearty she could taste it in the air. Hard working men and women nursed their drinks and laughed and talked, thawing out after long days of labor. An open, blazing hearth took over an entire wall of the room. Hickory smoke crackled, sparks dancing against the stone…

She could almost remember her brother’s smile. The glimmer of Elias’s eyes, dark ones that so perfectly matched her own.

_“Emmie!”_

Emmeline jumped, brows shooting up as a massive, _lanky_ figure uncoiled from the corner. Her lips parted in shock… then she _smiled,_ soft and bittersweet.

“Koss…” she murmured affectionately, giving him a warm hug.

Koss Killmesh — a sleek, grinning blue dragonborn — was not easily missed in a crowd. A male aged nearly fifty, smile lines creased the fine blue scales on his snout, with topaz-colored eyes and slit pupils that were most often swollen with affection and mischief. A thick, old scar cut across his eyes. His clothes were simple but expensive, with a matching, dark green cloak and wand tucked into his belt. He was just slightly chubby around the middle, tall and stout and perfect for hugging.

His throat vibrated happily as he squeezed her. “Mmmmmm _mm!”_

“Oof. Ow. Those are my ribs.”

He pulled back and grabbed her shoulders, his bony frills puffing out excitedly. “How has Emmie _been?!_ Koss has not seen her in _months!”_ he declared, his voice thick with a deep Draconian accent.

“Well, I… you know. I’ve been on a ship for a while.”

“Emmie looks terrible.”

She grinned and rolled her eyes at him, for what felt like the first time weeks. “Oh, _thank_ you. A lady always loves to hear when they look tired.”

“Koss was _so_ happy to hear from Emmie. How was the gathering??” Koss grabbed the edges of his own green cloak and twirled around, waggling his scaled eyebrows at her and beaming. “Did Miss Emmie meet _the Great Traveler?”_

“Oh, hush…” she mumbled, covering her face. “Quit teasing me about that…”

Koss leaned in, as if he was listening. “Oh? Oh? ‘Is this seat taken,’ the lady asks? No! No it is not!” he announced, dropping into a seat at the bar and patting the one next to him. “Drink! Eat! Koss will pay. Put on tab, barkeeper!”

Emmeline chuckled softly and collected her skirts, sliding into her place at the bar. The dwarven barkeeper slid a stein of beer and a hot pretzel over to her, a clay cup of melted beer cheese steaming on the plate. “You’re incorrigible…” she mumbled, immediately tearing into the soft, steaming pretzel. She was _freezing._ Hot food — _any_ hot food — was ambrosia in her mouth. “Mmmm…”

“How did the gathering _go?”_ the older dragonborn demanded in his thick, burred accent, grinning with all his happy dragonborn teeth as she ate. “Many pranks?”

“Let me _eat,_ you!”

Koss stole a bite of pretzel from between her fingertips and tossed it into his jaws. Emmeline stared at him, aghast. _“Hey!”_

Koss chewed the hot, salted bread — jaws chopping like a crocodile — and swallowed it whole. He grinned. “Hello.”

“How old are you??”

“Six.”

Emmeline snorted, spraying pretzel across the counter. 

She squealed and threw her hands over her mouth. “Oh, _gods!_ Look what you’ve done!!”

Koss cackled gleefully, snapping his jaws at her. Emmeline made an indignant sound and shoved at him, trying to look angry and failing miserably. Finally she just gave up and grinned. “Arsehole.”

“Six and _half.”_

“I _swear_ to Pelor…”

They both chuckled softly. Koss looked away. So did she, just slower.

Soon, the only sound between them was the babble of the Bäer Haus around them. The scent of burning hickory, hot cider, and good beer. A home. A haven. But even now, history, like the silence, weighed heavily between them.

Finally… Emmeline broke the silence. “I did not meet the Traveler.”

Koss glanced at her curiously.

“...But I met someone else,” she finally managed to say.

Koss’s golden yellow eyes narrowed slightly. He cocked his head, the sudden motion not unlike a bird’s. Emmeline took a deep, steadying breath, picking another scrap off her pretzel, dipping it mechanically in the cheese, and tucking it into her mouth. Once she had chewed it to a warm, savory pulp, she swallowed… feeling it slide down her tightening throat and all the way down into the pit of her stomach. There it sat. Like a bowling ball.

“Do you remember the day… that Elias died?” Emmeline asked him quietly. She didn’t look at him.

Koss’s pupils contracted to slits, his bony frills tucked back in anger and shock. Of course he did… How could he forget, after all...?

“You said… a red haired boy did the deed,” Emmeline murmured.

“Well… he was not alone.”

“No. He wasn’t.”

“No… He was not.”

Emmeline clenched her fists, taking another steady breath. “Well, um…” she whispered. “I found him. And I destroyed him.”

Koss stared at her. His scaled tail twitched with shock, but his reptilian face gave nothing else away.

“Then, I found the second of the trio. And I… tried something that was probably stupid. It was a risk, but it worked.”

His eyes tracked her as she reached into her bag. The enchantress pulled out a clay mold of Astrid’s house keys — the one that she had acquired only hours ago — and her spellbook. She opened it to Teleportation Circle, and turned it to the newest circle. The one into the Assembly handler’s office.

 _“I gave her false information,”_ Emmeline whispered, switching to Draconic.

Koss blinked and leaned in, listening intently as she continued. 

_“I gave her a scapegoat, a couple of them. But unless we’re extremely lucky, my ‘tip’ will not hold water indefinitely. We need to work fast. You need to take me to the Locksmiths,”_ Emmeline implored him, searching the older dragonborn’s face.

_“What makes you think I’m with them?”_

_“You still drink at Bäer Haus, Koss. You’re_ **_with_ ** _them.”_

_“What makes you think they’ll listen to you?”_

_“Because they are_ **_desperate, Koss._ ** _”_

Emmeline pushed the plate away from her quietly, turning firmly to face a man she had known for over twenty years. _“I don’t know anything about the specifics, or your numbers, but I can guess. This is my country, this is the empire I was raised in, and the tides are sore to turn. The war may have ignited a bit of patriotism in these past few months with the Kricks as a common enemy, but I can only imagine how swiftly the unrest has rushed back in.”_

Her eyes flickered over to a cloaked man in the corner, who was watching Koss for any indication that he was in trouble. _“Are you the only powerful caster they_ **_have_ ** _now?”_ she demanded under her breath, Draconic words harsh against her human teeth. _“You’re no strategist. You_ **_need_ ** _someone who can strategize, not just cast Fireball at a few Crownsguard.”_

Koss sighed heavily, licking his chops uneasily. He glanced uncertainly back at the man in the corner… then he turned back to Emmeline. He gave her a quiet flicker of a smile.

_“Hypothetically, let’s say I do.”_

Emmeline nodded, her dark eyes intent on him. She scooted closer.

Koss cracked a tiny smirk at the eager look on her face. He bowed his head. _“Hypothetically, let’s say that if you joined us… we would have three casters.”_

Emmeline’s jaw dropped in utter disbelief. “Three?!” she exclaimed, shocked back into Common.

Koss shushed her softly.

Emmeline swore and covered her face, rubbing her aching eyes. _“Three?”_ she hissed in Draconic. _“The Locksmiths have two mages right now?! Including you??”_

_“Yes. It’s really quite fucked.”_

_“Who is the other one? Please tell me you secretly have an Assembly member.”_

Koss wrinkled his nose. _“Not exactly. He is… learning.”_

_“How many levels of a spell can he cast at once?!”_

Koss grinned, weak with morbid amusement, and held up a single finger. One.

Emmeline stared at him. _“You’re pulling my leg.”_

_“I wish I was. The others have been killed or captured…”_

_“Forgive my language, but…_ **_fuck._ ** _”_

 _“What about you?”_ Koss asked, grinning through his sharp teeth. _“How many levels of a spell can_ **_you_ ** _cast?”_

Emmeline raised a brow at him. _“Eight.”_

Koss cackled. “Noooooo,” he drawled in Common. “Emmie pulling Koss’s leg.”

Emmeline smirked softly. “Yeah, okay, okay...” she murmured, pushing the plate back towards him. “Okay, Mister Fifth-Level Badass.”

“Seven!”

“Yes, dear, that _is_ how old you are.”

“Noooooooooo…” Koss frowned, pouting at her. He smirked. “Seven level spell.”

“Very nice…”

Emmeline switched back to Draconic. _“Who is this third caster?”_

Koss chuckled and shook his head, a trace of glee still in his eyes, but sobriety taking over as the subject matter changed. _“No.”_

 _“‘No?’ What do you mean ‘no?’”_ Emmeline snorted. _“Your rebellion is in shambles. You have almost no magic. If you’re going to win, you need a hell of a plan, and I need to know what resources you_ **_have_ ** _to—“_

 _“No,_ Emmie.”

His switch back to Common cut like a knife. Emmeline flinched, lashes fluttering rapidly in disbelief.

Koss looked at her firmly. “No,” he told her softly. “Elias make Koss promise.”

“Don’t say it—“

“Elias _make_ Koss _promise_ to keep Emmie away from danger. Long time ago… but Koss is honest. Koss keeps his word…”

The blue dragonborn picked at the cold pretzel. “And… Koss make _Koss_ promise to keep Emmie from getting hurt by Three Headed Dog. Traveler help. Pray to Traveler. Traveler will make Emmie smile. Emmie finally started smiling again, so _long_ after—“

Ice shot through her veins. Her eyes glittered dangerously. **_“Don’t.”_**

“Koss—“

“They _kill their parents,_ Koss. They—! To _graduate,_ they _kill their parents!”_

“Emmie—!”

“No! You _stop,”_ Emmeline hissed under her breath, standing up and pointing a finger at his snout. _“You_ don’t _get_ to look at me with those _sad_ dragon eyes like I’m your dead best friend’s fragile, _pitiful_ little sister anymore. You don’t get to say you’ll _protect me_ anymore. Not after what I have _seen_ and _heard_ and _done!_ _I have power now._ I have _power—_ a-and! And resources! Proof!”

She waved a stern hand at her spellbook, at the mold of Astrid’s key. “Proof that I am willing to risk my life. Proof that I have _power_ that I am willing to _lend_ to a greater cause! And you won’t even _consider_ me?!”

“No.” Koss whispered, pain contracting his throat.

“Why the _fuck_ not?” Emmeline snarled.

Koss hesitated, his scaled face deeply, incurably _unhappy._ “Because Koss will not see the light go out of Emmie’s eyes again…” he told her roughly. “Miserable… Miserable for _too long._ Miserable.”

“Yeah?”

Emmeline curled her fingers tightly, raging, pale gold magic sparking in her palms and black eyes locked on him. “Well now I’m fucking _angry,_ Koss…” she whispered softly, _earnestly,_ and _furiously._ “They took almost everything from me. From you! Our dignity, our— o-our…!”

She raised a fist, as if she were going to smash it down in the table — break the plate into pieces — but a moment passed… and her face _crumpled._

“They took what was ours.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Emmeline sat back down, still looking at the sad blue dragonborn in a matching green cloak. “I will not pray to the Traveler. Not for this,” she whispered. “The gods will not help us. This is a fate that we must seize for _ourselves._ I know what happened last time. More than _anyone else_ I know what happened last time! But I am _not ready_ to rot in my quaint little country house for _one more_ _goddamn year_ without doing something. I am drawing a line in the sand. _No more._ And you—!”

She hesitated… then she touched Koss’s face. His scales were smooth and wonderful, dry and cool and electric in the way that only Koss Killmesh could be. A way that she had _missed. “You are powerful… Koss,”_ she breathed in Draconic. _“You have been fighting for the Empire to be free from tyranny your entire life. Even against the odds and everything you have lost, for_ **_decades_ ** _you have been fighting with a kind heart for those around you. Even if you could not breathe lightning or cast witch bolts or teleport people in the blink of an eye, you would be unbelievably powerful, if_ **_only_ ** _for that reason. Do you know why you have survived for so long, though? Because you’re smart. You know the city better than anyone. If we are going to succe_ _ed, we need to know every grate, every sewer, every back way in, and we are going to play_ **_dirty._ ** _I do not know this city like you do. But I am not the little girl I was seventeen years ago either, and if my brother could see me today, he would tell you the same thing._ **_Let me help you.”_ **

Koss’s yellow eyes searched hers. It felt like an eternity that he stared into her face, the rest of the bar falling away like it used to. Emmeline _wanted_ to say more… but her worry brimmed in her chest. Had she said enough? Had she said too little…?

Then, the dragonborn moved.

Gently, he took her soft human hands and pressed his muzzle against them.

Emmeline tried not to tell herself that her heart skipped a beat. That ship had sailed. It had sailed long ago.

“Koss will talk to some people,” Koss mumbled. “Koss will be back. Yes?”

“I—“ _It worked!_ “Okay. Yes. Okay…”

Koss pointed at the pretzel. “Eat.”

Emmeline pulled the plate over to her, picking up the last bite of it and obediently stuffing it into her mouth. Koss eyed her for a moment… then finally grumbled softly and got up, heavy tail swinging; he mumbled to himself in Draconic, accepted the clay mold of Astrid’s key, and slid her spellbook back over. “Keep.”

She watched him disappear into the back.

The man in the corner who had been watching Koss’s back stared at her intently for nearly half an hour longer as she drank her full stein of beer and opened her spellbook. Nerves twisted in her belly like worms after a rainstorm. The Locksmiths had given her a dark purple feeling for the longest time in her youth. Rebels. Underdogs. People who fought against the Empire, hiding in plain sight. As a little girl, there was romanticism to the idea. But as an adult, Emmeline now knew exactly what they were risking. And what they were risking it for.

She poured over the last pages. Her highest level spells. Including one she had just recently transcribed; Widogast’s Nascent Nein-Sided Tower. 

A conjuration spell, a solid _seven pages_ long, and filled with exquisite, custom runes, lovingly transcribed into the expensive paper. She remembered the original, scrawling text that Bren’s hands had undoubtedly written out. Months of work and detail, playing with size and gravity and dimensional spacing. It made her almost feel a pang for the loss of the intellect responsible. _Almost,_ if she forgot everything else. If nothing else, she could begrudgingly respect his spellcraft. 

_I should try creating a spell. Maybe it would be fun._

Suddenly, Emmeline felt a nudge. She startled slightly.

Koss jerked his head wordlessly. Emmeline obediently closed her book and tucked it away, finger-combing her short blonde hair into some semblance of order as Koss led her behind the bar. They disappeared into a back hallway, past aged oak barrels of wine and beer. A tiny kitchen bustled to their right, the scent of hot, fresh breads wafting out like a taste of heaven, but still, they continued.

Finally, they stopped before a solid oak door.

Koss tapped sharply on it twice with a long dragonborn claw… and waited. A moment later, there was a tap from the inside. Koss smiled and nodded at Emmeline in approval.

He opened the door for her, allowing her to enter a dark room. 

Little more than a broom closet, the tiny chamber was lit with soft globules of magical light, lending an ethereal glow to the woman inside. Her raven hair was braided and held back with jeweled pins, her clothes simple but expensive and her skin a natural, dusky brown. Her eyes were intelligent. Her mouth was hard.

“Lady… Quana Seledo,” Koss pronounced, with a bit of difficulty. “She is an ally.”

Emmeline licked her lips nervously, and curtseyed. “It’s very nice to--”

“I only have one question,” Lady Quana murmured. She looked at her dragonborn ally. “Do you trust her?”

Koss glanced at Emmeline. 

She looked back at him, taken aback with the suddenness of her dismissal. She knew she was _new,_ but… 

Finally -- after what felt like forever -- he nodded.

Lady Quana eyed them both… then sighed and pulled out a piece of stationary. “Very well then.” She wrote out an order and handed it to her. Emmeline accepted it, glancing at the coded script. “Give this to Leon Sonnenblume, a farmer in northern Blumenthal. He will be your mentor in the ways of the Locksmiths.”

Emmeline frowned, almost in confusion as she looked up at her. “Ma’am?”

“Yes?”

“This… third,” Emmeline murmured. “How powerful is he?” She _knew,_ but just in case it was a secret, she didn’t want to throw Koss under the wagon.

Lady Quana gave her a scathing look. “Why would you need to know that?”

“Because… it is important to understand the true limits of one’s mentor, is it not?” Emmeline asked, resisting the urge to narrow her eyes.

The dark-haired woman frowned… then closed her ledger with a snap and put it away. “Leon Sonnenblume has been with us for nearly ten years,” she informed the enchantress. “He is a slow learner in matters of the arcane, but he bears resolution just as strong as yours, if not stronger. You will treat him as a senior member. Besides, you are not being mentored in the ways of magic. You are being taught in the ways of espionage.”

Emmeline resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Why were they wasting time on a _spy tutor_ when they could start right away? _Leon Sonnenblume? His last name is just ‘Sunflower.’ Gods... ‘A slow learner in matters of the arcane?!’ Just say he’s an amateur mage and have it done with!_

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now go. If your situation is as time-sensitive as Koss has made it sound, you should leave immediately. Avoid suspicion and always have an excuse to be gone from home when you are. You’re dismissed.”

Emmeline curtseyed quietly and left. Koss started to follow.

"Not you, Killmesh," Lady Quana told him. "You stay here. We have matters to discuss."

Koss hesitated, looking out after her... but he gave her an unhappy, apologetic look and closed the door behind her.

Making her way back up and out into the cold, drizzling night, the enchantress walked at least a block before she swore colorfully in frustration. What a _bitch!_ She could learn nothing about espionage and cleverness from a man named _Sunflower!_ There was too much to be discussed and done! And she was being dismissed like some shithead teenager off the street?! _Fuck_ that!!

Emmeline took a deep breath, trying to calm herself as she hurried back to her carriage through the rain. She stepped up into it and tossed down her hood, breathing hard. Her breath froze in the cold night air, gloved hands rising to cover her face. There was a way she had to do this. She could not be scryed. Her location could not be divined by anyone from the Assembly, or Bren Widogast’s group. As long as she was safe, used Disguise Self at every opportunity, and _did not panic,_ she would be fine.

“Damn it all…” she grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Fine.”

Her driver peered down through the slider. “Is something bothering you, my dear?”

Emmeline paused, brows furrowed… then she looked down into her purse and fished out the pouch of ten gold that Astrid had given her. She opened it and offered up the coins; there was no doubt in her mind that it was more than a city driver made in a year. “If you take me to Blumenthal, I will give you ten gold pieces.”

Much to her surprise, a thin, tapered, elven-looking hand stuck through the slider.

Emmeline hesitated, then placed five gold pieces into his glove, eyeing the driver -- faintly suspicious of his eagerness to agree -- and tying the pouch back to her belt. As the carriage lurched forward, she picked her feet up off the floor and tucked them under her skirts. Curling up on her side, Emmeline’s tired, dark eyes began to close…

Then, suddenly, an eloquent voice interrupted. “Terrible night, isn’t it?”

Emmeline’s eyes snapped open.

She sat up and threw open the slider. “Who the hell are you?” she snapped, ignoring the flecks of rain that hit her face. “Where’s my driver?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him,” the light, theatrical, mischievous voice hummed.

Emmeline blinked slowly, eyes flickering over the man driving her carriage. 

Then, she noticed the green cloak that he was wearing. Iridescent with magic… almost ethereal. Fluttering slightly, but unaffected by the weather. Not even dampened by the mist and rain...

Her heart jumped in her chest, eyes wide. “Traveler?” she exclaimed softly.

“In the flesh. Well, as much as I _can_ be.”

“Ha…”

A tiny smile curved her lips. “I see you’re in one of your humors…” Emmeline observed. Her voice was soft but happy as she rested her head on her arms. She relaxed, letting her spellbook fall closed between her lap and the seat so that she could continue to gaze upon the fluttering green cloak. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”

The Traveler hummed. “Well, you _know._ Organizing a great gathering is very taxing, even on a god like myself.”

“Mm…”

“‘Mm?’ Is that all you have to say? ‘Mm?’”

“At this moment, yes…” Emmeline confessed softly, rubbing at her tired eyes. “I have had… a day…”

There was a moment of quiet between them, with only the rattle of carriage wheels and the patter of raindrops to break the silence.

“Am I in trouble?” Emmeline asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

The Traveler seemed to consider her question. “I mean, from which side of the water?” he pointed out. “You have the Cerberus Assembly on one side, the Empire’s proper spies on the other, the Mighty Nein behind you, and now the Empire rebels in front of you! Oh, and your _husband._ Dear, if you were swimming up shit creek, you would be about neck deep and in sore need of a paddle.”

Emmeline smiled halfheartedly and sighed, resting her forehead on her arms. “That is quite a colorful anecdote.”

“I _know,_ I’m quite proud of it!”

She peered up towards his shoulder. “What happened to my other driver?”

“Oh, don’t worry about some stinky old human when you could be talking to _me._ Besides, he was an asshole anyway. Now… what’s on your mind?”

Emmeline hesitated, but only for a moment. This was the Traveler. He was mysterious and mischievous, but _fun._ He wouldn’t hurt her. Surely if he was angry on his priestess’s behalf, he would have said something by now. “I’m… thinking about Koss.”

 _“Koss._ That big dragonborn fellow?”

Emmeline smiled softly. “Yes… that one,” she murmured. She sighed heavily and beamed to herself, a flustered, soft pink spreading across her face. “Gods, it’s like I’m a teenager again…”

“I _thought_ I noticed something between you two when you introduced me to him.”

Her smile faded. “Yes, well… we had _something._ A long time ago,” she confessed, her expression almost wistful as she looked out into the fog. “But… something happened. And… it became impossible to look at him the same way. We drifted apart. I got married to Aldric to survive, not because I loved him. I’m just glad he’s faithful, even if he gets irrational and upset sometimes. Faithful men are rare. And I’m not exactly the easiest person to be married to, I know that.”

She shook her head quietly. “I am… reclusive. Impulsive. Overly calculating. Pessimistic. I have an irrational temper. I’m not the prettiest thing to look at, either. The only redeeming quality I really have is my magic, and my brains… and Aldric has never loved my magic.”

“Why not dump him and find someone else, then?”

“He doesn’t deserve that…” Emmeline murmured honestly. “Besides, he helped me when I was in a tough position, while I was on the run. When I got pregnant, he married me. He bought my childhood home as a wedding gift, _just_ because I asked him to, and when I miscarried… he _stayed_ with me. He _stayed._ He didn’t try to sell the house and he didn’t take any mistresses and he didn’t start to look at me differently, he just _stayed._ I mean… yes, he isn’t much at home, but he works. He works to make money to pay for our _lifestyle._ I wish I could be a better… _person_ for him, but I just-- The anger doesn’t go away. The regret hasn’t gone away. But for the first time, I feel--!”

She opened her hands wide in wonder and disbelief. “I feel _better!_ For so long, I have been… _praying_ to forget everything I’ve been through. Like forgetting will _fix_ me. As if… if I forgot, I’d suddenly be the perfect wife. I wouldn’t be obsessed with _travel_ and _power_ and _magic_ anymore. And…”

Emmeline smiled softly, gazing up at the Traveler. “You found me that day, in the field. You helped me remember how nice it was to laugh again.”

She lowered her gaze. “You let me forget everything, just for a few seconds. So… I gathered my courage and I went back to Koss. He needed to remember how to smile too. We had a lot of fun, doing little pranks together… so… thank you, Traveler. And thank you for making it possible for justice to _finally_ happen. For Koss. For me. And for my brother.”

The Traveler sighed… and slowed down. 

“Well.”

The carriage’s wheels came to a stop. Emmeline paused… and slowly sat up, wariness twisting in her belly.

The slider snapped shut on its own.

She stayed perfectly still, a hand carefully resting on her spellbook as she heard the carriage’s axles creak. The Traveler had moved. Stepped off the driver’s seat. She couldn’t hear his footsteps… and she couldn’t hear the sounds of the city either. All she heard was the rain, and… the rustling of _grass._ No more pattering of water off roofs or cobblestones. No ambient chatter from passersby on their way home after a long day. No footsteps. Just rain… and grass.

_“Two matters.”_

Emmeline found the pit of her stomach growing cold, as long, ivory white fingers curled around the handle of the carriage door.

It swung open… and an immense, green-cloaked figure ducked into the space. But once he was inside, his cloak was _swelling._ Billowing out into long, long viridian ribbons and grasping hands that vanished when she looked at them. Emmeline dug her heels into the seat, panting with sudden, pitch-black fear as fog swallowed the world around her. It only left the impossibly immense cloak of the Traveler looming over her in the dark…

A smile full of shark’s teeth glimmered in the green haze.

 **_“One,”_ ** the Traveler whispered, black doll’s eyes _clicking_ as they blinked independently. **_“You hurt my little friend’s feelings.”_ **

Emmeline swallowed thickly, her heart pounding uncomfortably fast in her chest. “I--”

**_“I want you to apologize.”_ **

“I-- for… I-I’m _not_ sorry!” Emmeline suddenly snapped. Despite the fear and the fey magic that flooded her brain like a poison, she scrabbled against the seat for purchase, sitting up to meet the unnaturally shining eyes of the Traveler. “I-I-I’m _not!_ He _deserved what he got!_ A-And I will n-not apologize for what I’ve done!”

An invisible hand grabbed the back of her hair.

“AH!”

Emmeline cried out, hands flying back as the disembodied hand ripped her head back, slamming and affixing her unnaturally to the ground. Or was it the _carriage seat?_ Or was it the _ground?_ Reality was smearing in that unnatural, bleeding green fog. The invisible dents of more and more hands gripped her dress, wrapped around her torso, held her legs and arms down, sprouting right out of the bottomless surface beneath her. Her pupils were contracting painfully. Discombobulated. Confused. _Afraid._

“S-Stop…!” she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I-I…! I-- why’re you--?!”

The Traveler was supposed to be her _friend!_ Why was he holding her down?! Why was he _hurting her?!_

The Traveler’s voice was loud enough to draw blood from her nostrils. Psychic damage resonated through her skull, bursting capillaries as he spoke like he were discussing the weather. **_“She thinks the advice she gave you was the reason you killed him,”_ ** he told her, his voice like a razor against soft tissue. **_“Now, we both know that’s_ ** **true.** **_But it has made her sad. She is_ ** **angry** **_with me. You will make her_ ** **not angry with me.”**

“How a-am I supposed to--?!”

**_“YOU MADE MY LITTLE FRIEND ANGRY WITH ME! THIS IS YOUR FAULT! FIX IT!!”_ **

Emmeline nodded, her face crumpling. “I-I will I will…! I’m _sorry!”_

_“Hmph!”_

All at once, the vision of an angry fey vanished.

A dark grey sky opened up over her. Emmeline gasped, only to fall six inches and _splat_ into a road of cold mud. She coughed and choked and flew upright in shock, lightning crashing and thunder roaring overhead as she instinctively yanked her hood up. In seconds, she was soaked to the bone.

She coughed and tried to catch her breath, whipping her head around. She was sitting on her ass -- drenched with mud and rain, _alone_ \-- in the middle of the Amber Crossroads.

In a matter of minutes, they had teleported nearly twenty-five miles.

Suddenly, something caught in her throat. Emmeline gagged and swallowed, coughing, blinking with wide eyes.

In the space between two lightning strikes, the Traveler appeared in the mud before her. The hem of his cloak wasn’t even touched by the mud. She saw him give a little smile down at her; she flinched back instinctively, shrinking in on herself. 

“Two. You gave me five gold to take you to Blumenthal, not ten gold, so I took you halfway to Blumenthal,” he informed her.

Emmeline felt something bulge in her esophagus again.

Her stomach heaved. She bowed in half, struggling and gasping for air. Thunder rumbled through the flickering sky overhead. Emmeline heaved a second time -- every muscle in her body clenching -- and clapped a hand over her mouth. Tiny, slimy legs were scrambling up the inside of her esophagus. She heaved a _third_ time, both hands braced in the mud, eyes _watering_ with the force of her own body rejecting what was coming up…!

With a disgusted, retching sound, a healthy green frog splatted into the mud. It blinked up at Emmeline.

She coughed, mucus trailing from her lips, and _gasped_ for air. “Ah… _hah…”_

She could hear the smile in the Traveler’s voice. “And as _extra_ motivation to fix your mistake, you will randomly burp up frogs until Jester stops being upset with me. Just a fun little curse,” he hummed, pleased with himself. “You’ll get used to it.”

When Emmeline looked up, the Traveler was gone.

Her face crumpled.

Thunder cracked overhead as she sat there in the mud, her heart weighed down with the loss of her god. The only creature who had taught her how to have fun again. 

But finally, on shaking legs -- her tears invisible in the wall of rain -- Emmeline got up, weighed down by pounds of water soaking into her skirts. 

She bit back an _angry_ sob, the kind that felt like it might break her ribs. 

She yanked off her green cloak, hurled it down, and left it there in the mud of the Amber Crossroads. 

Emmeline took a shuddering breath, polymorphed herself into a giant eagle, and began the long, treacherous flight to the town of Blumenthal. Flying as fast as she could, it would take two hours, vomiting three frogs from her beak and recasting her spell halfway through the journey. 

She didn’t look back. Not once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sunflower motif is on purpose
> 
> you'll see :)


	11. My Father's Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord steps into the line of Trent Ikithon's wrath, and Eodwulf takes the punishment for his actions in the Court of Colors. Meanwhile, Jester has an outburst that results in an unexpected domino effect... and this long, long night finally nears its end.

Master Ikithon was angry.

Eodwulf knew the scent of Trent's silent fury well, filling the air in the Cobalt Soul like ozone -- even through the walls of Yudala Fon’s office -- threatening to spark and focus on the first person that said the wrong word. 

Astrid, his _handler,_ was _not_ here. If it had just been _his_ fuck-up, Astrid would be here to take responsibility for his mistake. 

But _Master Ikithon_ was here. Something had gone wrong first, higher up the chain.

He took a breath, his first open breath since he had left Astrid’s home. The one good thing about being low on the totem pole, albeit a team leader, was that he was not meant to ask questions. He was not meant to think. He was meant to take orders as they were given and carry them out. Astrid had been loose with her orders. She would take the brunt of the blame.

Eodwulf refused to find it in himself to feel guilty for… _overdoing_ it. _Astrid_ could take care of herself. _Astrid_ always had.

A twinge of old spite lingered in Eodwulf’s chest. He brushed it off. Perhaps her goddamn ambitions would be set back a year or two… but she always knew the right things to say to Trent.

Eodwulf’s black eyes flickered over to the four members of Bren’s party.

Beauregard Lionette stared unwaveringly back at him, cradled tight in the arms of her sweetheart. The veins were distended in her face, still aching and frost bitten, a thick, perfectly clean scar bisecting her muscular torso. Yasha Nydoorin — the towering, ivory-skinned woman — had hidden her fierce eyes behind the newly resurrected expositor. Both women watched him like hawks. The third, a large, furred creature, looked down into a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The fourth, the half-orc they seemed to respond to like their leader, was slumped forward. Fjord Stone. Overwhelmed, elbows braced on his knees and hands pressed against his wounds. Ice crystals had melted into their wounds, warmed, and dried against their skin as the hours had passed.

Who were these people. Why were they _better?_

Eodwulf’s jaw set. Silent. Injured, his throat seared shut with repressed anger. He had tried his best to reconnect, with what little time he’d had. Even dared to compliment Bren back when they first met again, months ago, out of nowhere when he was guarding the Beacon. Even with Master Ikithon there, Eodwulf had _risked_ it. Because he _had_ to reach out.

He never knew when Bren might disappear or reappear now, like some ghost of a better time sent to torment him in these dark, dreary days. It had been so many years, and yet the memory of that fiery young man -- craving knowledge at every turn, declaring his excitement in the middle of Eodwulf's fields, back when he was ten years old and an uneducated, lovesick shepherd boy -- was treasured. 

He did not miss Bren every day. Close to it, though. Every time he popped up, his heart would hop and stir. Jump like a goddamn rabbit, ready to leap for him at moment's notice. Astrid would tell him it was dangerous to feel that way about someone. 

She was right. She usually _was_ right.

Suddenly, the door clicked open.

Eodwulf stood upright, locking his emotions away in a neat little box as Master Ikithon stepped out of Yudala Fon’s office.

Master Ikithon gave him a quiet, _exasperated_ look… then turned to the members of Bren’s party, with a smile that could curdle milk and the voice of a silver snake. “This has certainly been a night, hasn’t it?” he murmured. “Rest assured that the Cerberus Assembly will cover your stay in Rexxentrum. The Camarouth Cottage has been told to expect you.”

“...That’s _it?”_

Beauregard bared her teeth and tried to sit up. “This _fucker_ fucking _kills me—“_ she snarled, jabbing a finger in Eodwulf’s direction. Eodwulf didn’t flinch. “And we get a _fucking hotel voucher?!”_

Yasha held her back. “S-Stop it—“

“But, _fuck—_ Yasha!”

“Stop it…” the aasimar begged softly.

Beau faltered at the look in Yasha’s blue and violet eyes. “Baby…”

Yasha just squeezed her tighter. Beau hesitated, but she finally eased back into the muscular woman’s grip, wrapping her arms around Yasha’s head. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay… I’m okay…”

Trent side-eyed the pair of them. 

Eodwulf watched his mentor, the skin around his eyes tightening with suspicion. Why was he still here? What had he talked to the Herald about for _hours_ in that office? While he had waited, like a _student_ outside the headmaster’s office with the children he had fought with in the yard; out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the furred, pink-haired creature — Caduceus Clay — eyeing Master Ikithon as well, as if he had the same question.

Finally, Trent raised his jaw, eyes lidded with dignity. “The Herald and I have come to a conclusion,” he informed the Mighty Nein. “It seems that an anonymous informant gave us false information… and unfortunately, due to the failure of a subordinate’s ability to _follow the rules,_ it led to this attack. Under normal circumstances, we would immediately hunt down the criminal and have them tried accordingly. However, I have reason to believe that this may not be as simple as that. It could be that our anonymous informant is more powerful than expected.”

“Emmeline Becker,” Fjord muttered.

Trent blinked.

He turned his head an iota in Fjord’s direction. “Excuse me?” he said lightly.

Eodwulf’s expression changed at _that_ reaction. That name. Stone had yelled the name ‘Becker’ at him earlier. Who the hell was _Becker_ that Trent Ikithon might recognize a name right away?

Caduceus’s eyes narrowed at Eodwulf, watching his face.

Oblivious to the war of insight going on in front of him, Fjord just nodded, eyes dark and angry. “Your anonymous informant? The one that’s running circles around all of us?” he muttered. “I would bet you anything that her name is Emmeline Becker. She’s done more damage to us than most monsters ever had, over the course of a _single night,_ and teleported away with most of Caleb’s things. If she’s not with you, that means she’s against you.”

Trent watched him for a long moment… then nodded slowly. “This is true…”

Eodwulf’s eyes flickered back to the rest of the party, watching them. The tension in the air could be plucked like a string. How could they not _feel_ it?

Finally, Trent clicked his tongue… and _smiled._ “I have good news for _all_ of us, in that case. The Herald and I both agree that an incident like this should be avoided in the future. Therefore, to hunt down this _very dangerous individual,_ the Cobalt Soul and the Cerberus Assembly would do well to work together. To… avoid stepping on one another’s _toes_ again.”

Beau twisted her mouth bitterly, raising her jaw as a challenge, but said nothing.

Meanwhile, Trent continued, even and calm, with a smile too cold to be genuine. “If you share information with the Assembly, we will be able to find Becker _many_ times as quickly,” the Archmage of Civic Influence told them. “This city will not tolerate a rogue mage, especially one as powerful as Becker.”

Fjord’s brows came together with suspicion. “So, you _do_ know her.”

“Oh, not at all.”

Trent smiled tightly at them all. “You simply make it sound like she is capable of a great deal.”

Fjord, Yasha, Beau, and Caduceus all looked at him with various levels of distrust, but it did not sway the archmage. Ikithon turned, walking down the hall. Trying not to show his relief, Eodwulf followed close at his heels, eyes on the white and gold brocade of his robes sliding along the marble floor. The other scourgers followed him like lambs, except the one that had been cut in half; his remains had been put into a burlap sack, slung over the back of one of the others. 

“I shall take my leave now. Kindly send a message when you are rested and willing to exchange information,” Trent stated, his back straight with irritation. “Good night, _Vicious Vier.”_

“Hold u-- _Wait,_ now!” Fjord snapped.

Trent stopped.

Eodwulf’s heart dropped into his stomach.

Neither man moved, one still with terror and the other still with _iron_ restraint as Fjord Stone walked up behind them. The half-orc stopped a respectable distance away. 

“You just-- I believe we are due an _apology,”_ Fjord insisted, scowling and folding his arms. “A _real_ one.”

Eodwulf did not move. He kept his eyes _down,_ his stomach twisting silently in knots as he kept his eyes where they were safe. Locked on the corner of his master’s robe. He sculpted his features to something blank and emotionless, clamping down on the fear that rose like bile in his throat.

Then, he heard his master cut through the silence.

“I understand that you grew up in an orphanage.”

“What… What does that have to do with _anything?”_

“You should not feel bad about it. Most of your kind ends up in orphanages. Or out in the world, destroying lives.”

“That has nothing to do with—!”

“Close your mouth.”

Fjord closed his mouth. 

“Do you know why mothers abandon little green children like you?” Trent whispered, his voice quiet, slick as blood, and heavy with _distaste._ “Because they cannot bear to _look_ at you. Because _you_ are nothing more than a painful byproduct conceived in violation, slithering out into the world to follow the paths of your fathers. Mindless beasts that care for nothing but violence and _mating_ with the first warm thing that they come across. Sometimes by some unfortunate miracle of discernment, it is not a _farm_ _animal._ But the true question to ask is… are you like your father, or are you like your mother? Are you a mewling creature, laid out in a ditch and unable to defend yourself? Or are you the _monster_ that a hunting party will track down and slaughter for _leather_ and _bragging_ _rights?_ Know your place. Do not embarrass yourself by _opening_ your _mouth again.”_

Stunned, shocked silence filled the void.

Eodwulf closed his eyes, just grateful that the target was someone else.

Trent moved silently past the half-orc. Eodwulf followed, eyes opened just enough to fix on the hem of his master’s robe. He didn’t resist. He just reached out to join hands with his team and touch Ikithon’s robe.

Fjord didn’t even think to try and stop them again.

The members of the Cerberus Assembly vanished in a flash of light.

They reappeared on the grounds of Ambition’s Call.

Trent whirled, eyes blazing. “You _useless—!”_

Eodwulf clenched his eyes shut and steeled himself. The slap — when it came — stung, cracking so loudly that it echoed through the trees. The others scourgers lowered their heads, keeping their eyes down where they were safe, and Eodwulf swallowed the lump in his throat. He straightened his spine, and braced himself for the next blow.

_“Stupid!”_

_Whack._

“CHILD!”

_Crack._

Eodwulf stumbled slightly, one of his master’s rings breaking his skin. He sucked quietly on his own tongue, occupying himself with gently wiggling a loosened tooth. The wounds from Stone’s blade hurt worse than the strikes from an old man, blood dried and clumped beneath his armor. The rapid pounding of his heart had re-opened the slash on his hip; it pulsed, aching, but he didn’t take a step back. If he took a step back, he would get worse.

Trent let out a harsh, hot, shuddering breath, glowering at all of them. “My _children,”_ he growled, furious _disappointment_ curling his upper lip. “You bring _shame_ to the Assembly. _Shoddy_ _work.”_

Eodwulf swallowed, eyes down. The words hurt worse than the blows.

Ikithon snarled and waved his hand in disgust. _“Out._ All of you out. Except for you, _Gruppenleiter.”_

Eodwulf stiffened, but he obeyed. He kept his hands locked behind him, dissociating silently, focusing on the tickle of blood crawling down his cheek. Dark bruises were already beginning to blossom and spread under his pale skin as his team scattered into the night.

Ikithon’s hand extended before him.

Eodwulf took it and knelt, pulling a clean cloth from his belt. He wiped his blood off of Ikithon’s rings, his master’s words burning in his ears. “Thanks to you, my credibility has suffered a black mark and I have been forced to relinquish authority to this group of _foreigners,”_ Trent sighed, rubbing his temple. “The Cobalt Soul leads this investigation, not _us,_ because you did not have the _foresight_ to not kill one of their expositors on _archive grounds._ Are you mentally crippled? What did you think would happen?”

“I am sorry, Herr Ikithon. I took action as quickly as possible. I...”

_I did not think. I was angry. I thought… I thought he was dead. I thought he was gone from my world. I did not think._

“I did not think,” Eodwulf murmured, the light drained from his eyes. 

He finished cleaning his master’s hand, and quietly kissed the ring. “I am sorry.”

Trent sighed wearily, gazing down at Eodwulf’s dark hair and broad shoulders… then beckoned him to stand. “The fault is not your own. The fault lies with your handler, _mein Kind,”_ he muttered softly, his frustration finally bled out. “You did your job, although shoddily. She did _not_ do hers.”

Eodwulf felt a twinge of worry in his chest… but he kept his eyes down.

“You will go to her house, yes?” Ikithon murmured. “You will carry out her punishment. And you will _not_ go easy on her.”

Eodwulf could feel those aged eyes on him. “...Whip, brand, or... hands?”

“Hands.”

The dark-haired scourger felt like he might be sick, but he nodded. 

Ikithon smiled coldly, the skin around his eyes tightening. “And then, I have another job for you,” he whispered to him. “You, with your… talent for violence and silence, I would have you look into that… foul-mouthed expositor of the Cobalt Soul. Go to her home town. Secure some leverage, to be sure that she will do and say what we wish her to, should the occasion arise.”

“She is a stubborn individual,” Eodwulf whispered, hiding a flinch. “Standard blackmail will not be sufficient.”

The corners of Ikithon’s mouth curled. ““I know that. She is a Lionette, is she not? The Lionettes live in Kamordah. _Secure leverage._ Then bring it back here.”

For what felt like an eternity, Eodwulf couldn’t meet Ikithon’s eyes… but finally, he nodded.

“Good boy,” Trent whispered. He rested a hand on Eodwulf’s cheek. “Now go do as I say.”

The dark-haired scourger nodded. 

Mechanically, he turned and walked down the hill of Ambition’s Call… free of the oak trees… all the way down to Astrid’s house. It blazed like a beacon. Impossible to miss, and impossible to avoid in the black, rainy night. 

He could see Astrid’s shadow in the upstairs window.

Eodwulf shut down his brain, leaving only a shell behind to do what he needed to do. He knocked on her door, and waited for his childhood friend to answer.

…

* * *

_Rustle._

_Gold. Green. Brown._

_Grass. Rushing by._

_This was grass. This was a dream._

_Once again, long ago. He was five years old._

_Bren dashed through the grass, stumbling and giggling, gasping with laughter as he looked behind him. Someone was chasing him, but he wasn’t in danger. Happiness popped and fizzed in his chest like bubbles as he leaped from the tall grass and squealed, ducking under a rickety wooden fence and out onto the muddy road._

_“I’m going to get youuuuu!” called a youthful male voice in Zemnian._

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Caleb watched. The sky beaded and melted, the memory softening under the force of the spell that kept his brain nearly shut down… but he could still watch. Just for a moment.

_Before he was suddenly his youngest self again._

_Bren squealed as his father appeared from the grass, scooping him up and blowing a raspberry into his plump little belly. “AAAAAAAAAAH!! PAPA!”_

_His father chuckled and tossed him over his shoulder. “Oh, look at this sack of potatoes! What is it doing all the way out here?”_

_“I’m not a sack of potatoes, papa! I’m Bren!! Don’t be silly!” Bren giggled. He tried to sit up, looking sidelong at his father’s curtain of dark hair._ Even under normal circumstances, Caleb doubted he could even remember what his father looked like. _“Can we play? Can we play again? Please?”_

_“No, that is our last game,” his father told him, setting him down. “It’s time for your reading lesson.”_

_“Awwwww…”_

_“Don’t pout, Bren. The earlier you start reading, the better you will read when you’re big.”_

_“What do I need to_ **_read_ ** _for?” the little boy argued. Nonetheless, he joined hands with his father --_ a man who had been, no doubt, younger than Caleb was now -- _and walked down the muddy road. “I want to go play with Astrid...”_

_“It’s important to be educated, maus. You never know if you might converse with a general, or even the king one day.”_

The world melted into darkness around Caleb, watching them walk towards a path of sunflowers -- and his mother standing over them, watering them -- as that final word echoed softly into nothing. He was able to stand there in self awareness for a moment longer, gazing off towards that one-roomed cottage in the distance… before flames kindled in the core of his brain… and burned up slowly through his eyes. The world around him faded…

_Burned away. All to black._

* * *

…

In the steam of the Xhorhaus spa — at the end of the first _full_ day of Caleb’s recovery — Jester’s bath was streaked and colored with red paint, bubbles popped and melted to sudsy pink mush all around her soft blue body. Her fingers were already pruny, from how long she had sat in the tub. It had been nearly an hour since she had yelled at the Traveler, and her eyes itched. Swollen from crying.

There was a gentle knock at the door. “Jester?” Veth called. “I brought you… dinner. And everything.”

“O-Oh! Sure. Come on in!” Jester called back, her voice trembling only slightly as she pulled the drain out for the second time.

Veth opened the door to the spa, peering inside. The fat, brown halfling woman looked almost ethereal with loose, wet hair and an oversized shirt falling all the way down past her knees; she carried in a plate of cupcakes. “Hey,” she murmured, offering her a smile. “I brought you some sweet things! If-- If you want them.”

Jester gave her a tiny, grateful smile. “Thank you, Veth…”

She started to refill the tub again. “Did you make them yourself?”

“No, I went out and bought them…” Veth admitted, jerking her thumb towards the ceiling. “The moment he was out of the bath, he just curled up under a bed and fell asleep.”

“You mean _on_ a bed?”

“Uh, no. _Under,_ actually.”

Jester giggled halfheartedly, sitting on the edge of the tub and trailing her fingers through clear, hot steaming water. “That’s cute…” she mumbled. “I bet he’s getting paint all under the bed. He needs to get in the bath next...”

Veth nodded uncertainly. “Yeah…” she mumbled back. “He does…”

There was a moment of awkward silence, where the only sound was water pouring into the tub, washing away the red. It was impossible to lie, not with the look on her face. Something was very wrong… but Veth didn’t seem to know how to ask about it. And Jester — in a way that made her feel terribly ungrateful — was glad, somehow, that she hadn’t. Veth was a wonderful, nice woman… but… she would give _advice._ Advice that Jester did not _want._ Either she would say that Artie was absolutely being a dick and Jester was _totally_ in the right, or that she should _apologize_ for not _handling_ it better. Jester did not want to hear that she was in the right. She did not want to hear that she should apologize, either. The only person she had told about Artie hesitating to resurrect Caleb was _Fjord._ And Fjord was away…

She wanted to talk to Caleb. So bad.

Caleb would know what to say. What _not_ to say. He would know that all she was really asking for what patience and support, that she didn’t _want_ advice. That she wanted time to figure it out on her own. It just… all sucked.

Jester let out a tired sigh, letting her lips catch and flap in the air. “Are the kitties fed?”

“Yeah, I’ll go check...and uh, Jester?”

Jester eased back down into the bath, looking up at Veth. “Ya?”

The halfling woman gave her a halfhearted little smile. “Let me know if you want to talk about it at all. Okay?”

“Okay…” Jester mumbled. She smiled back, the corners of her mouth faltering as she looked back down into the water. She scrubbed away at the red, waiting until she heard the door click shut.

Finally alone, she blew a raspberry up at the ceiling and stuck her tongue out unhappily. The last few days had been _so_ terrible. _If I had known Travelercon would’ve ended like this, I never would’ve—_

She _couldn’t_ have _known._

Jester’s expression fell. That was the trouble, wasn’t it? This she thought as she sat in the steaming bath, picking paint out from under her nails; she was not _really_ as dumb and cutesy as she liked to act. It was just _easy_ to act that way. It was what made her mama smile the most, back home in Nicodranas. It was what made everyone smile. She _liked_ to be happy, and she liked to _see_ people happy. Especially at Travelercon, she had been so preoccupied with keeping everybody happy that she forgot to take things seriously. She had just acted like a _little girl._

She loved her mama to the end of the ocean and back… but she was _tired_ of being a _little girl_ around people.

Caleb never saw her like a little girl. Even though Fjord _had,_ for a really long time. She wasn’t even sure when the change had _happened,_ but he was starting to see her differently. It was _nice! Really,_ it was! But talking to Fjord and talking to Caleb weren’t the same feeling. Talking to Fjord was thrilling, cradling, constantly in motion just like the sea. 

Caleb was… just _different._ He was like… coming home. He was a sigh of relief. He was a feeling of safety, whenever she was close to him. He was not a throbbing of her heart or a _spark_ that had fanned into a flame. That wasn’t what he _felt like._

He felt like her best friend. He felt like peace.

“Aaaaaaaand somehow my thoughts go back to Cayleb…” Jester grumbled, soft and grouchy as she folded her arms. “I do not want to think about stupid boys…”

She grumbled, scrubbed the last of the red paint off, checked under her pits for her own sake, and got out of the tub. She wanted progress! A progress report! Or… maybe just a conversation about nothing at all…

Jester went back to her room, grabbed her component pouch, unrolled her Sending wire, and flopped down on the bed, uncaring about her open towel. 

…

The sun was long since set on their evening as Fjord, Yasha, Beau, and Caduceus entered the familiar, pale yellow, mid-tier inn of Camarouth Cottage. After a round of drinks — and still no Caleb — the four went upstairs to their room. It was an unspoken truth that none of them felt safe right now; even splitting into two rooms felt too far apart. Yasha and Beau took the floor. Caduceus curled up in a blanket in the corner. Fjord lay spread-eagled, alone, on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He touched his tusks unconsciously, Trent’s words spinning in his head.

Fjord took hold of one of his small tusks, trying to wiggle it.

As suspected, it didn’t come out.

Somehow, that was it. _That_ was what sent a crawling, deep, cold _wave_ of dysphoria rolling over him. Fjord knew he couldn’t believe it. He _shouldn’t_ believe it. _That_ was the same man that had tortured and raised Caleb, nurtured his _damage._ That was the same man that somehow _convinced_ Caleb — _Caleb,_ in all his mad intellect — to kill his own family. He _knew_ Trent Ikithon could target weaknesses and insert _knives_ into it, surgically, just the right way to make a person feel how he wanted them to. Ripe for manipulation.

Knowing that didn’t make him feel any less like some malformed, spiteful, unwanted product of pain.

Fjord hesitated… then got up.

Stepping carefully around Yasha and Beau, he glanced back at Caduceus. The firbolg had one eye open, watching him as he was leaving.

Fjord opened his mouth, closed it, then pasted a smile on his face, mouthing the word _‘bathroom’_ at Caduceus. Their cleric watched him for a moment — undoubtedly seeing right through him — but he just gave a little nod, looking almost sad, and closed his eyes again.

Fjord sighed… and walked out of the room.

He wasn’t as quiet as he would’ve liked to have been as he made his way down the hall, occasionally passing a window that looked out over the dark streets of Rexxentrum. He paused at one, looking out over the scarce lights that were going out, one by one in the luxurious buildings of the Shimmer Ward. It was beautiful. He wished he could appreciate it more.

Fjord ducked into the hall bathroom, and found himself in a tiny, but clean space. Almost claustrophobic, it barely had room for a chamber pot, a basin for hand washing, and a mirror. But the mirror was what he was here for.

**_-“Are you like your father, or are you like your mother?”-_ **

Hesitating, Fjord just stared into his reflection.

He had never thought much, physically, about what people saw when they met him. There had always been a range of reactions. Positive, mostly, in his adult like. Everyone said he was handsome… and until now, Fjord would have agreed with them. As a man, he had a sharp jaw. White teeth. Powerful bone structure…

When he was a child, he remembered being… odd, compared to the other children. His bones were heavy. His head was too big. His tusks were oversized and his eyes were too sensitive. Everyone had brown and blonde and red hair… but he had black hair. He stuck out.

Who did he more resemble? Physically? It was something that Fjord hadn’t thought about in decades.

But his conception…

 _That,_ he had never thought about. Not until now. **** Fjord’s fingers tightened around the edge of the porcelain basin… Then, he let out a shaky breath and waved his hand in front of his face.

In his place, a woman stood. He gave her long, thick, wavy brown hair, all the way down her back, tied with a pretty red ribbon. Her eyes were kind, beautiful and hazel. Her skin was sun-bronzed and freckled, her forearms bare in a sea-worn dress.

Fjord looked into the woman’s face. He tried to make her smile at him. In the mirror, she winced, almost pained at the sight of him.

Immediately, Fjord dropped the disguise.

His mother vanished. And there he was again.

Fjord growled and bit the inside of his cheek, scratching his head, looking at the walls, the floor, anywhere but the mirror and the sight of his slitted, yellow-gold eyes. “What am I _doing…?”_ he hissed to himself. His voice echoed shallowly off the tile walls. “This _isn’t…”_

_This isn’t me. This isn’t her! This doesn’t help anybody!_

Frustration bubbled in Fjord’s belly as he glared up at the ceiling, resisting the urge to punch the mirror like it had somehow wronged him. Shame and _irritation_ warred for possession over his faculties. His anger… He had never thought of it as something that might have been _hereditary._ Did other people not get as angry? Or were they just better at _hiding_ it? Was _he_ good at hiding it? Had his _father_ been good at hiding it? Or was his father this… beastly, raging… warped thing that Trent had described?

They had met one orc before. On Rumblecusp. Lukash. Captain Deramind Thrune. And… he had been friendly. He had smiled. But… he had grey skin. He was a relatively lithe individual. He was educated, a sea captain... Vokodo had fallen and his memory was restored, he was noticeably more agitated than the others. Deramid had been one of the few to physically lash out. It was understandable, though… but they had fought orcs too. Angry, brutish creatures, in Xhorhas. 

Fjord didn’t know what to think. He didn’t _know_ what kind of face to envision when it came to his father. He didn’t _know enough._

Trent Ikithon was a horrible person… but he knew the Empire. How many half-orc children had he seen in his years? How many women with broken bones and broken hearts had he seen, bringing a squalling bundle to an orphanage and walking away without it, so much _lighter_ on their feet? How many half-breed infants had he seen who had suffered far worse?

**_-“Are you a mewling creature, laid out in a ditch and unable to defend yourself? Or are you the monster that a hunting party will track down and slaughter for leather and bragging rights?”-_ **

Fjord turned himself into an orc. He didn’t try to give it detail. He just needed to _see._

**_-“Know your place.”-_ **

Fjord’s face crumpled. So did the scarred, _brutish_ face in the mirror.

He dropped the spell. His hybrid appearance came back… still tainted by orcish blood, but better. A little more human. Softer. _Better._ Better?

After a moment of contemplation, Fjord waved his hand in front of his face, casting Disguise Self one more time.

He gave himself dusky, sun-bronzed skin, dusted with freckles. Like he had seen on countless sailors in Port Damali, like the skin he had given his mother. He erased his tusks, and the scar on his upper lip. His haircut stayed the same, an undercut with streaks of silver. They weren’t the result of his heritage; they were because of his encounter with Uko’toa. He could embrace the grey. But he changed his black hair, turning it to a thick, wavy, cocoa brown, touched by ashen blonde. Like Vandran’s.

He made his forehead and nose a bit less prominent. His eyes hazel green. His ears rounded. Like hers. 

For a few minutes, Fjord picked and tweaked at his appearance. Casting, and re-casting… trying to get the perfect balance of Vandran and his imaginary mother, until he was happy with it. A tiny smile on his lips, he braced his hands on either side of the sink, looking into a stunning human face.

Gazing into hazel-green eyes made him feel _better._ He licked his lips, feeling his tusks even though he couldn’t see them. There was a warm, fuzzy sensation in his belly -- almost guilty, but light with relief -- like he was a little boy again, who had gotten away with something. Like he was hiding under his covers in his bed at the orphanage, a stolen bowl of hot soup in his belly.

He felt safe. 

No one could say shit like that to him again. As long as he looked like this.

_“Heeeeeeeey, Fjoooord?”_

Fjord jumped -- green eyes wide -- still staring into the mirror like he had been caught. However, it was just Jester’s voice, drawling from the back of his skull. _“Today was a daaaay… Talk to me!”_ she demanded. _“Did you go to the houuuuse, did anything exciting happen? I met with the Traveler todayyy…”_

Fjord let out a breath he hadn’t realizing he had been holding. Oh.

He opened his mouth, staring into his own hazel eyes like he could find the answers there. What was he supposed to say? _Progress report, dumbass! Progress report. Shit. Fuck. Uh._

“We, uh--”

What could he say that was positive, that Caduceus hadn’t communicated already? What was he supposed to say?! That Beau had _been killed_ and resurrected and they had to work with the Cerberus Assembly now to find Becker?! That wasn’t productive! Beau was alive, right?! Silver lining! He had to focus on the positive. Jester was dealing with enough right now, caring for Caleb in his state. He wouldn’t give her anything else to worry about. Good news. _Only_ good news.

Fjord put up his fingers, counting his words out. _Two words so far._ “Becker not Assembly.” _Five._ “Talked with… authority?” _Eight._ “Getting government assistance.” _Eleven._

He hesitated… then licked his lips again and pushed on. “Tired.” _Twelve._ “Will go to Mudtop address tomorrow.” _Eighteen._

_Seven more words…_

Fjord chewed on the inside of his cheek, shaping his question, and voiced it quickly. “Still mad at Traveler? How is Caleb?”

_Twenty five! Perfect!_

Fjord clenched his fists in victory, raising them up over his head and grinning. As he waited for a reply, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and puffed up his chest, turning his sharp jaw to admire his new appearance.

He messed up his new, thick hair a little and smiled at himself winningly. He jerked his chin up flirtatiously. Yeah. That looked nice. It was a little weird, but he could get used to it.

...

_“Becker not Assembly. Talked with… authority? Getting government assistance… Tired. Will go to Mudtop address tomorrow… Still mad at Traveler? How is Caleb?”_

Jester blinked rapidly. “Oh my god. So many questions. So much information! Ahhhhh…”

She cast Sending again, chewed on her bottom lip for a second, then wrinkled her nose and rambled down at her wire. “Still mad at the Traveler, the Traveler is a dick,” she stated, scowling, but she pitched her voice up for the next section, shrugging to herself. “Cayleb is good! He painted fire and flowers and stuff. What do you mean that--?”

Her spell sent automatically. 

“Fak!” she blurted, immediately casting it again. “WhatdoyoumeanBeckerisn’tAssembly?!”

She blinked… then frowned and counted out the words. “Suhh… _Seven._ Oh, dammit… _AH!_ Okay okay okay! He needs a bath! Good! He likes the cats super good!”

Her spell sent off.

Jester mumbled softly to herself and blushed, covering her face. “Aw, maaaan…”

...

Fjord stood there, biting back a little smile as he listened to Jester ramble. He waited a minute -- just to be sure that she was done -- and calculated his reply, counting out the words in his head and on his fingers.

“The Cerberus Assembly is going to help us hunt her,” he murmured softly. “I am glad he’s okay. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jester. You’re doing great.”

…

Jester curled up on the bed, squishing her own cheeks and blushing purple. Her stomach was doing backflips as she listened to Fjord’s deep voice, but it had an odd, bittersweet twinge to it. She had Sent three times so far… 

She could Send again. Right? He wouldn’t think she was annoying? Or being childish?

“Thank you, Fjord…” Jester mumbled. “I think you’re doing pretty great too… I mean, you’re doing more than _I can_ right now…”

She hesitated, about to speak into the wire again, then just sighed and curled up into a tight little ball on the bed. Her wet hair tumbled over her eyes, the small blue tiefling grumbling into her hands. It took nearly _all_ of her willpower… but she let the spell time out.

It took about three seconds after that for Jester to pop.

 _“Fuck_ it!”

Jester sat up and cast Sending again. “OKAY!” she yelled. “So it’s only been like one day, right?! I should be totally patient!! But I’m not patient, I’m _super_ impatient!! He’s fingerpainting _fire_ and--” 

She cast it again. _“Blood_ and shit and it’s fucking _frustrating!!_ Why isn’t he better yet?! I want him to be better! I just-- doo doo doo doo DOH!!”

She cast it _again._ “Do I have to do a little dance?! Do I have to sing to him?! The Traveler is a _dick_ and he doesn’t care about--!” The spell automatically sent. Jester roared in frustration and threw her hands up. Her breath was coming faster, having to spend more and more energy to keep Sending by this point, but she cast it _again._ _“--Cayleb,_ Fjord!! He doesn’t care about Cayleb and I do! I’m-- _You’re_ good with people, Fjord! You’re doing so well over there! You talked to--”

Her spell automatically sent off before she was even finished. Jester choked off a strangled sob and tried to cast it again. Her fingers were starting to shake. It took more of her focus, more of her reliance on a power that she had pushed away only an _hour_ before.

“The Assembly!” she insisted, fighting back the heat and pressure in her eyes as she whispered. 

She counted her words on trembling fingers. If she used every single _bit_ of her energy, she only had _two_ spells left. “You’ve… protected everyone over there.” _Seven words._ “I just want him back…” _Twelve words._ “A-And I… just don’t _know…”_

_Seventeen words._

“I-If….” _Eighteen words._

Jester rubbed at her stinging eyes, her expression pinched with worry. “You might be right…” _Twenty-two words. Three words left._

...

_“About Greater Restoration…”_

“No!” Fjord exclaimed, panic stinging him like a slap in the face. “Jester, hang on. Give me a second!” _Eight words. Seventeen left._

Wait. Why was he arguing?

Fjord opened his mouth, dumbfounded by his own words for an instant. Why was he saying _no?_ This was what he had argued _for._ To just _restore_ Caleb, and not _wait_ for his idiot, skittish, catlike sub-conscience to wait to get over its trauma! They would be there in Xhorhas forever!

Then, Fjord caught another glimpse of himself in the mirror; a human face that he had made for himself. The half-orc stared into hazel eyes -- that he _knew_ were an illusion -- and realized why he had yelled in denial.

He braced his hands on either side of the porcelain sink, bowing his head.

**_-“Know your place.”-_ **

_I can’t let Caleb see me like this._

_I can’t let that taint smear be right about me._

_I can’t fail._

“... Give me more time,” Fjord pleaded quietly, like a prayer. “I do not want to be empty handed when he gets back. Please.”

There was a long moment of silence… and then, one final Sending came through.

_“Okay, Fjord…”_

Fjord heaved an immense sigh of relief, looking back into his hazel eyes for strength. “Thank you, Jester,” he murmured. His fingers tightened around the basin. “I won’t let you or Veth or Caleb down. I’ll get that book. I promise.”

…

Jester blew a loud, frustrated raspberry. “UuuuuuuUUUUUUUUGH!!”

She bounced and flopped angrily on the bed, kicked her feet a few times, and yelled a muffled cornucopia of curses into her hands.

“Um… Jester?”

“Whaaaaat?!” she groaned, rolling over.

Veth peeked in through the crack, brows raised at the display of a half-naked, infuriated blue tiefling spread-eagled on her bed. “Uh, were we going to give Caleb a bath together? Or no?”

_“Sure!”_

Jester groaned and rolled off her bed, stomping over to her dresser and throwing on the first panties and nightgown that her fingers touched. She hung her pouch of diamond dust around her neck. “Only got one fuckin’ spell slot left, can’t get any fuckin’ worse…” she mumbled crossly to herself, marching past Veth. “Cayleeeeeb! Come and get your second fucking bath in two daaaays! You somehow always managing to get _suuuuuper_ fuckin’ _dirtyyyyy!”_

Veth winced. “Yikes.” She closed the door and followed Jester down the hall. “Caleb!”

“Cayleeeeeb?!”

“Caleb?”

“Cayleb! Where the fuck is Caleb…?”

“I have no earthly idea… I left him under that bed. Maybe he moved?”

“Oh my gosh… _CAYLEB!!”_

A muffled sound came from downstairs. Jester and Veth straightened up, looked at each other, and rushed down the stone steps. They looked around -- even in impossible places, like under couch cushions and inside the cold stove -- for a few minutes… but finally, Veth rushed past the spa and caught a glimpse of red hair.

She yelped, skidded to a stop, and threw open the door to see Caleb sitting in the bathtub. “Ah! There you are!”

* * *

Caleb startled.

He sat up from inside the warm stone smooth place, cocking his head. Brown Sweet Mother Friend was smiling. She was happy to see him?

He smiled back at her.

Brown Mother Friend giggled and chattered at him. She poked his nose, so he tried to look at it in puzzlement, but he was interrupted by her small hands pulling at his arm. Caleb looked around in wonder and curiosity at the strange room he was in.

Why did he feel like he was… missing something here?

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Caleb yelped and scrambled out of the smooth warm place and tucked himself in the corner, staring towards the source of the noise.

Blue Sweet Horns Love!

Caleb perked up-- and suddenly he faltered, brows furrowed. _Jester,_ an unfamiliar voice was whispering in the back of his head. _Her name is Jester._

Jester. _Who is Jester?_

What was a Jester? What was she doing? Why did she look so mad? So sad?

* * *

“C’mere…” Jester mumbled. 

She flushed faintly as she helped Veth undress him, just sighing crossly as -- for the second time in as many days -- they filled the bath with hot water and deposited a naked, puzzled-looking Caleb inside.

Their wizard looked up at her, frowning worriedly.

Jester rolled her eyes and threw her hands up. _“What,_ Cayleb?” she muttered. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Jester, you’re going to _scare_ him,” Veth whispered, pouring some bubble bath into the water.

“No, I’m not... _Look_ at him. He’s just…”

* * *

Caleb cocked his head at her, brows pinched with concern. _Jester._ A Jester.

_Wake up. You’ll remember everything._

Caleb cocked his head the other way, blinking and trying to turn. Where was that _voice_ coming from?

A person? _A Bren._

_The pouch._

Caleb turned his head, eyes landing on the brown soft hanging thing, dangling off Blue’s body. By her chest. What was a pouch? Was that a pouch?

* * *

“Hold still, Caleb,” Veth murmured, rubbing his back. She gently pushed him back into place, eyeing Jester as the blue tiefling began to work up a lather on his hands. The bubbles turned pink, discolored with streaks of milky red.

Caleb reached for the pouch. “Ah.”

Jester gently pushed his hand back down into the bath and continued to scrub. She didn’t look up.

She chewed her bottom lip, her face pinched with hollow disappointment, fielding weak, but persistent reaches for her chest. Fjord wanted more time. More _time?_ More time to do what? More time to miss Caleb? What was the point in getting the book if they didn’t have Caleb? Caleb could _help!_

It was just tiring to think about now.

Suddenly, fingers snagged against her leather pouch and _pulled_. Jester yelped, yanked forward. “AH!”

* * *

Caleb watched, eyes bright and fascinated as the pouch broke open and glittering, shiny dust spilled into the water around him. It shimmered… then disappeared beneath the bubbles. He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t understand it. But somewhere in his subconscious, another, separate entity realized the key to its release had settled in a thin film across the bottom of the bathtub. _Dangerously_ close to the drain…

Caleb’s heart shot into his throat.

* * *

“A-Ah… Ah!” 

“Oh my _god! Cayleb!”_ Jester snapped, throwing her hands into the air and tossing water droplets across the floor. “Look what you did!!”

“Oh _shit!_ Don’t drain it, don’t drain it, uhhh…!” Veth got up, frantically wiping her hands on her dress. “I’ll go get a sponge and a bowl or something. Don’t move!”

Jester sputtered indignantly as the halfling woman rushed off, staring Caleb in the face. “You— _ah!”_

* * *

Caleb seized her wrists and squeezed, staring into her face with the desperation of a wild animal. Emotions and impressions went flashing by like streaks of blinding color, nearly overwhelming his brain.

 _Help. Fuck. Please. Do it. Jester._ **_Help. Please._ **

* * *

Jester’s breath snagged in her chest.

Their eyes locked. Caleb was holding her hands on either side of his face, shaking like a leaf and looking so _terribly_ confused, as if even _he_ didn’t understand what he was doing. He was scared. But… he was not retreating this time. He was pulling her _close._

“Do you…?” Jester whispered.

Her throat closed up. 

Caleb whispered softly and pressed her palms to his cheeks. He clenched his eyes shut. Tense. 

Waiting.

She swallowed, heart pounding… and, with the last of her strength, pulled pure, restorative magic from the other side of the veil. 

* * *

Caleb’s eyes fluttered open, staring down at the glowing clouds beneath him. 

Not clouds. Bubbles. 

Light. 

Rainbows, popping, bursting, catching like fireworks deep in his brain and showering sparks down on his suppressed conscience. Like dry brush — deprived of water and sunlight — Caleb’s mind kindled into coursing, multicolored flames. It caught on a single snarled branch, spreading faster and faster through the Feeblemind’s dark tangle, breaking and burning and _showering_ embers as it went… until finally, the last of it crumbled to ash.

And Caleb opened his eyes.

* * *

…

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away — in Kamordah — a door opened in the comforting darkness of a child’s bedroom.

Thoreau Lionette Jr. wrinkled his nose softly. 

The two-year old mewled sleepily, opening his eyes as someone gently picked him up. Big, callused hands made sure he was secure, one under his butt and the other carefully cradling the back of the toddler’s neck. “Mm…?” he mumbled. “Daddy…?”

“It’s okay…” Eodwulf whispered. “Go back to sleep…”

“Will you sing to me…?” Thoreau asked sleepily.

The curly-haired toddler yawned and wrapped his arms around the scourger’s neck, his tiny body relaxing in Eodwulf’s grip. Rubbing the little boy’s back, Eodwulf hesitated… then felt a ghost of a smile cross his lips.

He stroked the little boy’s curls, bouncing softly to lull him back to sleep. “Schaukeln Sie ein Tschüss-Baby auf der Baumkrone…” 

_Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top..._

His deep, husky, unpracticed voice resonated through the room, even at a whisper. Eodwulf shifted the toddler carefully, _securely_ to one arm, and picked up the threadbare rabbit that had been left on Thoreau’s pillow. He tucked it softly into his pocket, and reached for his teleportation chalks.

“Wenn der Wind weht... wird die Wiege schaukeln.”

 _When the wind blows_ _... the cradle will rock._

He knelt on the floor, ruby chalk glyphs shining in the weak candlelight from the hall.The house was deathly silent and dark, all but for the candles in the house. The lanterns for the night watch were still lit. To an unwitting eye, all was right with the Lionette Estate.

“Wenn der Ast bricht, fällt die Wiege…” 

_And when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall..._

Outside, armored guards were sat carefully back at their positions. Some of their heads were twisted at an unnatural angle. For others, a single, brutal stab through the neck had frozen shut in a gap of blackened flesh and blue veins, preventing any blood from escaping. There was not a single drop of blood on the ground.

Eodwulf closed the teleportation circle, cradling Beauregard’s baby brother, and stepped through. 

“Und runter kommt Baby, Wiege und alles…” 

_And down will come baby, cradle and all..._

The chalk lines pulsed and glowed for five more seconds… and then the energy of his spell burned it all away, leaving no trace in the black Kamordah night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kill bill sirens* i did this to myself
> 
> i took so long cuz my bff motherbatz and i co-wrote the NEXT chapter (which is literally ALL WIDOJEST) before i was even halfway done with this one, and................. i am excite. luv you all. see ya next week. :)


	12. Through Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb wakes up. (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally just one person had to say "i mean, i would love to read it." heck it, i have no impulse control and i wanna post smut, so GUESS WHAT I HAVEN'T STARTED ON THE NEXT CHAPTER AT ALL YET SO IT'S GONNA BE A WHILE BEFORE THE NEXT ONE!! but tbh, caleb wakes up??? that's honestly a great chapter to have this fic tipped with for a few weeks.
> 
> oh yeah, uh... Beware: Here there be fuckin'. 
> 
> hope you like it. <3

Waking up… Waking up was like a dream in itself. As if slowly emerging from a nightmare -- hands sticky with gore -- only to find his hands hot and sweaty and soaking red. It was real. It had been _real._ But _how much of what I dreamed was real?_

_My name is Caleb Widogast. My name is Bren Aldric Ermundrud._

Waking up -- and remembering -- was like pulling a single thread on an impossibly snarled knot, and having it all pull free. Like watching the world pass by through a keyhole, while swaddled tightly in his own flesh and tucked away in a corner. Sounds were muffled and suspicions ran rampant, the neurons in Caleb’s brain suddenly erupting; a galaxy of stars suddenly bursting back to life from behind the black haze. His bonds came free. Almost with an audible _snap._

And there he was.

Here he was.

Xhorhaus.

Caleb stood, stock still. All the blood drained from his face. His perfect brain, like a _steel trap,_ had allowed everything to slide in and seep free… for…?

For how long?

Caleb barely noticed Jester’s hand slowly moving back from his face. The heels of his palms were instantly at his eyes, bearing down, nails digging into the skin of his face. Trying to _feel_ something. This _wasn’t_ a dream. He could hear, smell, taste, touch, remember _remember what the FUCK REMEMBER REMEMBER--!_

“Cayleb?!”

**_-“What is the name you go by?”_ **

**_“C-Caleb. Caleb Widogast.”_ **

**_Emmeline Becker smiled halfheartedly. “Is that something you made up?”-_ **

Black eyes filled with hate and pain. Agony. Panic, the kind of blind, rabid panic that a rabbit feels before its neck is twisted. Crunching bone. His orbital socket cracking. He remembered _that._ He remembered a word. **_Please._ **

Then nothing.

“How long…?” Caleb whispered, his throat constricting around the words. “Wh…”

He swallowed the rock-hard lump in his throat, scared to uncover his eyes. If he looked up, would he be grey this time? His hair bleached with age? More and more lines carved into his face by the delicate etching needle of time. How many years had he _lost_ this time? Where were his friends? Where had they gone? _Where am I? How long? I-I can’t…_ **_I can’t remember. Please…!_ **

“Please help me…” Caleb begged softly, feeling his knees threaten to give out from under him. Old age. Old age, there was no doubt. Was he only a breath from death’s door this time…? He couldn’t-- _I can’t--!_ “I c-can’t…!”

His lungs clenched. Caleb felt like he was suffocating. “I _c-can’t fucking breathe…”_

"Cayleb!"

He knew that voice.

Before he could really process it, the sound of water splashing reached him, past the blood rushing in his ears. Soft hands grabbed at him, followed by familiar strong arms as he was pulled into someone's chest.

"Listen to my heartbeat, Cayleb," Jester whispered, fierce and pleading. "Listen to it, and follow my breathing, okay? In… and out. In… and out, that's it… Breathe, Cayleb…"

She nuzzled into his hair, holding him even tighter as she willed herself to focus on him. Not wanting her own emotions to boil over. "I've got you. You're safe. I've got you…"

Caleb’s body shuddered, lungs trembling and hitching irregularly through the shock. “Jester…? J-Jes—“

He shivered, black crawling at the edges of his vision as he tried to obey. Somehow, he summoned the strength to stop mauling his eyes, a dry, shapeless sound of confusion escaping his chest as he listened to a fast, rapid, furious heartbeat. Her lungs swelled and deflated, harsh but steady. He tried to follow her example. Tried to breathe.

Jester combed her fingers through his hair, trying to give him more to focus on, to ground him. It helped calm her _own_ mind as well.

It had _worked._ Caleb was _awake._

"Your name is Cayleb Widogast," she whispered, trying to reassure him, _calm_ him. "You are home, at the Xhorhaus. You have a cat named Frumpkin, and friends that love you very very much, Cayleb! It's been four days since Travelercon, since the attack. We got you! We're here. _I'm_ here…"

Caleb sniffed and swallowed the lump in his throat. Four days? Only four days…?

“I need... a-a mirror… Please.”

For a moment he heard another pair of feet pound down the hall and skid into the room. “CALEB!”

 _Veth Nott shout screaming no no can’t be real_ **_can’t see me like this!!_ **

“He’s freaking out!” Jester whispered, soft and frantic as Caleb’s fingers dug into her arms, hard enough to bruise. She waved Veth off, wild-eyed. “J-Just—!”

“But I…!”

“Just give him a minute, just a minute!”

Veth looked like her heart might break, looking down at Caleb’s trembling form… but she swallowed, nodded, and darted away. 

Jester relaxed after a moment, blindly reaching over the edge of the tub. She found the handle of a silver mirror. “Here… Here you go, Cayleb…”

Caleb didn’t acknowledge any of what he just heard. It could all be an illusion. 

All of it, except for what he could _touch._

He fumbled at the mirror and grabbed it, spinning it around and staring at the silver surface. Caleb looked down at his face, his lungs still trembling, his hands shaking…

There were a few small, bloody crescents where his nails had dug into his forehead. The dark circles under his eyes were surprisingly _lessened,_ like he had spent the majority of the past four days sleeping. But no more lines. No aging. No liver spots on his hands. Only a few threads of new silver stress in his hair, and a few tiny, fishing-line-fair scars that laced across his pale skin… but otherwise, he was just as he remembered himself.

Caleb groaned softly and _slumped_ in relief, letting the mirror splash and clatter to the bottom of the tub. He let his head fall into his hands, muscles trembling with the stress of exhaustion.

There was a small splash as Jester settled fully into the bath with him. Her nightgown was already wet; there wasn't much point in keeping dry now. 

She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Better…?”

Caleb gave her a half smile, breathless and grateful. “Thank you…”

He sniffed roughly and smoothed his hair out of his face, letting her have one hand. “Um… You said four days since the attack. What— What happened?”

"I…”

She hesitated. “I-I'm not sure I want you to remember that part,” she mumbled. “But I know it's important to you, your memories… so…"

Jester took a breath, gripping her own emotions tightly as she began to tell him… _everything._

The woman, the attack, the _death,_ the fight she had with the Traveler, the things she said to get him back, the _spell._ Her hand shook in his, repressed anguish and rage building up inside of her. She didn't want to let it get away from her, not right now. She needed to _focus._ Focus on Caleb…

Caleb chewed on his bottom lip, his brow furrowed…

He looked down at his body. He touched the hollow of his shoulder, silently feeling and looking for another scar. Nothing.

“That’s… unusual,” he murmured. “I might’ve expected that she—“

He hesitated, then shook his head, face crumpling. “Never mind. I’m glad. I am glad that you found me…. What have the others been doing?”

"They've been trying to find her," Jester told him, eyes alight with fury. "When I last talked to them they had some leads! The rest of us, well, just me and Veth, we stayed here with you."

Caleb looked at her firmly. “Call it off.”

“Wh—” Jester sputtered. _“What?!_ But, Cayleb!”

“Call it off.” His voice was quiet now, almost gentle as he stood up shakily from the bath. “My death does not need to be avenged. I have done enough to that woman. I will not be responsible for any more distress in her life. I deserved just as badly as she gave me. Call it off, blueberry.”

He grabbed a towel and started to dry himself off. “Where are my clothes? My books?”

Jester stood up, her nightgown soaked through, stunned and angry. That fury she had been trying so hard to stifle began to boil again. How dare he say these things about himself?! How dare he let this _go!_

But… she couldn’t say that.

"Your… Your clothes are in your room, you didn't like them so you've been wearing Fjord’s shirts cause they're looser," she muttered, crossing her arms. "As for your things, _she_ took them. Everything that was on you that day."

Caleb’s spine stiffened.

He went still, blood roaring in his ears.

Slowly, Caleb turned. Mad blue eyes locked on Jester. _“What?”_

Jester's own rage was no longer being held in check, and he could see it. In her flushed face, her bared teeth, her _eyes._

"That _fucking_ woman took it all!" Jester shouted, throwing her hands in the air. "Y-Your books, your gold, your components, _everything!_ Fjord and I searched _everywhere,_ she even took your _stone!_ The little one! With the band around it! Why do you think we've been _hunting_ her, Cayleb?! I-I don’t-- I don't _care_ what you think about yourself, I don't _care_ about what you think you did to this woman! I want her _dead!_ She tortured you! She used spells to make you helpless, make you scared, and then she… she…"

Jester screamed in rage, hands in her hair. "And then! And _then!!_ She has the _audacity_ to steal from a dead man! She took _everything!!_ "

Caleb’s eyes darkened.

He turned away from her, but he didn’t move. His brain churned, rifling through his options with the rapidity of shuffling cards. 

_They_ had stolen from dead men. He had just been a valuable corpse. 

Of _course_ she had stolen from him… and to some degree, he could forgive it. She could take everything else. She could even take his life and he wouldn’t dare to retaliate, not after what he had done without remorse so long ago.

But… she had taken his knowledge. 

That was the _one thing_ that Caleb _refused_ to let go.

“...Have they found her?”

“They found an old address in a thing…” Jester mumbled. “They found a Mudtop Ward address. They’re going there tomorrow…”

Caleb’s brows pulled together thunderously. He knew exactly where they were going.

“They need our help. But—“

His eyes darted back and forth, teeth bared with stress. “Ah, _sheisse…”_ He didn’t have his book. His _spells._ He was _fucking useless_ without them. He had cantrips. He could make a new stone, too, rendering the old one inert. _That_ would take eight hours, though. And he could _not_ go back to Rexxentrum without even basic defensive and offensive spells! Copying a spell worth the _time_ would take far too long. He needed another solution, _now._

Rapidly -- in a matter of seconds -- he pulled together a plan.

“Jester, send a message to Essek,” Caleb told her, eyes bright with intensity. “Once I’m dressed, I need to speak with him. It is a dire matter. Then, please send a message to the Nein and tell them to stop right where they are. Tell them to return to wherever they’re staying and we will be with them in half a day.”

"I… okay, I will, but Cayleb…"

Jester came closer to him, gripping his arm as she looked up into his face. His _awareness_ washed over her, and she felt herself soaking up that intensity pouring off him in molten waves. Finally, _finally,_ he was awake, he was with her again, and someone was finally just as angry as _she_ was!

"Please let me help you," she begged him fiercely. "Anything, Cayleb, please. I need to do _something_ useful, I can't just sit and watch this time I need to be active, _useful._ That woman made me feel _useless,_ Cayleb! She made me feel l-like a child _playing_ with magic because I couldn't help you! She did all of this and it _broke me,_ Cayleb, it broke my _heart!_ "

Caleb’s face crumpled. _“Jester,_ I—“

She clung to him tighter, needing to feel him, needing _her Caleb_ back. Her rock, her stable place, the one pillar in her life had nearly crumbled. She wanted him standing _tall_ and _strong_ again!

" _Please,_ Cayleb, I almost lost you…"

She felt his thin chest expand shakily, pulling in a breath ripe with hesitation… then, slender fingers gently gripped at her arms. Quietly, softly pushing her back. 

She went, but she went unhappily, looking up into Caleb’s face.

Her wizard grimaced at her, pain and selfish worry and wholehearted _faith_ glittering in his eyes. “Jester, I may be awake. But without my magic, I am far from powerful,” he whispered. “I intend to take precautions, and I will need you. I will need you — and the Nein — to protect me if things go south. It is one thing to harm _me._ It is another thing to take my _motherfucking books.”_

Jester sucked in a shaking breath, trying so desperately to calm her anger. But it was… difficult. She wasn't sure what she had expected when he woke up, and she was so happy he was finally _awake._ But she missed that easy closeness, the way he sought her out, the way he let her touch him. 

He was back, her Caleb was back, but he was already rebuilding those walls…

What if he built them back up twice as tall? Had that woman ruined all the progress she and her friends had made? How much more pain was that _bitch_ going to cause!?

Jester had always been so good at holding in her emotions and feelings. She had mastered the art of masking her sadness and pain and anger from her friends. She had been so good at keeping the peace and keeping a smile on her face.

She heard a cracking noise.

Caleb flinched instinctively.

Jester blinked, staring down at her own hand. She didn't remember moving to the wall. And she sure didn't remember pressing against it so hard that a tile split down the middle.

Caleb let out an instinctively shaky breath. He looked over at the crack in the stone. He hesitated, then looked back at her, brows furrowed and questioning.

“Jester…?”

The anger was still there, but it had cooled slightly as Jester stared at the wall. 

She reached out with a shaky hand and cast mending, repairing the stone. "... Sorry. I-I’ll… um..."

Jester looked down. "I'll do whatever you need me to, Cayleb…" 

Caleb opened his mouth, then exhaled and ran a hand over his hair. “I am sorry too,” he murmured, looking down at the space between them. “I… Maybe if I had reacted faster, none of this might have happened. I am sorry that you had to… go through this. It must have been difficult. _Immensely_ difficult.”

"Stop it."

"What--?"

 _"STOP_ IT!!" 

Jester shouted, turning on him with bared teeth and fluffed hair, eyes blazing. "Stop fucking _blaming_ yourself! It wasn't your fault! _None of this_ was your fault! One of us should have noticed you were gone! One of us should have checked in with you! Fucking-- I _talked_ to her, Cayleb!!"

She stomped her foot, fists shaking at her side. "I talked to her at Travelercon! I felt like something off but I was too _selfish_ and _consumed_ with _myself_ and the stupid _Traveler_ that I didn’t _care!_ I didn't _follow_ her or warn the others! I didn't do anything! So stop blaming yourself when it's _not your fault!!"_

Caleb flinched back, eyes darkening. “It _is,_ Jester.”

“I said _STOP IT!”_

 _“IT_ **_IS,_ ** _JESTER!_ Goddammit, it is!” Caleb snapped at her, holding onto his towel with white, bloodless knuckles. “I keep _telling you all_ that I was a _fucking shitty person_ in my youth! And none of you _ever_ believe me! _None_ of you! We have encountered so many _fucking shitty people,_ and it doesn’t occur to you that we have done the exact same thing to countless others that have done far less to _us?!_ That was not _justified?!_ If she had just taken my gold and gone, that would have been fine! I would have cut my goddamn losses! But that book _is_ my life. I am _getting it back!_ If I were a better person, perhaps— perhaps I would accept it as a punishment and simply start over again but I _cannot._ What we are doing right now is _fucking shitty._ It is _not_ justified. It is selfish. And I am doing it anyway because I do not have the respect, dignity, or patience to _leave_ this woman _alone._ I _know_ you are furious! But you _must understand._ I did terrible things, Jester. _Terrible things._ A-And— when you tell me these things weren’t my fault, it just makes me feel worse! So stop _saying_ that they weren’t!”

Caleb pointed into the air, to some point in the distance, refusing to break eye contact with her. “What I did to that woman? Trent Ikithon _did not tell me to do it._ I did it because I _wanted to._ And it was _monstrous._ So _forgive_ me when I say that she deserved her vengeance.”

"I don't care."

"Jester--"

"I don't care!" Jester yelled right back, face flushed, seething with rage. "We are all assholes! We all did shitty things! I don't _care_ if you think she deserves her revenge! I don't _care_ about the mistakes you made years ago! I care about the man that is _here_ and _now!_ I care about the man wh-who-- who--! Who feels guilty for a past he is _allowed_ to bury but just fuckin’ _refuses to!_ I care for the man who s-spends his _days_ and _resources_ creating spells for _others!_ I care about the man who created pretty lights for me just to see me smile! I care about the man that listened to all my shit and never judged! I care about the man that works himself to _exhaustion_ for his friends!"

_“Jester—!”_

Jester jabbed a finger at his chest. "Maybe I don't know the boy you were! But I know the man you _are!_ And I _love_ that man! And you're right, we are _not_ the good guys. We are assholes, jerks, liars, but we are _family!_ And _no one_ does this to one of our own. No one!"

Caleb’s heavy heart skipped a beat.

He stared at her, his face gone from white to red and back to white in the span of a few seconds. He didn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself to.

Jester herself was breathing heavily, heart pounding and too many emotions filling her up to near bursting. Sadness, love, devotion, pain…

But mostly, anger and _want._

"... _Fuck,"_ she cursed, rubbing a hand over her face. "That's… That is not how I wanted to say that. Fucking…"

She huffed through her nose and looked away.

The muscles in Caleb’s throat tensed. Something small and wrathful and lonely and _desperate_ for her shrieked in his chest, fighting to uncurl and sink its wicked claws into her. _Kiss_ her and _bite her_ and _consume_ her and claw its way down her throat and _live_ there, inside her bloodied remains…

His voice came out an octave deeper than it normally did, his accent thick and nearly indecipherable.

“You don’t know what you’re _asking_ for,” Caleb whispered. 

"I'm sure I _do_ know but feel free to go into detail if you want, Cayleb," Jester snapped. "But first, let me tell you what _I_ know I'm asking for! I am asking for _everything!"_

She spread her arms as she talked, wildly gesturing and not realizing that — with her nightgown soaked through with bath water — he could _easily_ see her naked body beneath. Caleb’s eyes flickered down. "Life is not a romance novel, I know that. I don't want a hero to save me from an ivory tower. I don't want a knight or prince to cover me in flowery words and gift me chocolates or jewels. I want a man who knows what the _fuck_ he's doing. Who knows himself and his goals and knows _my_ goals and _respects them._ I want a man who knows I can save myself, but still comes to help me set my enemies on fire. I want a man who knows when to be gentle and when to be firm and treats me like a person and not an _object._ I want a man that knows he doesn't own me, but knows we own _each other._ I want something fucking real that’s not coated in flowers and sugar but is instead built on real emotion and trust and _devotion_ because I'm that far gone, Cayleb! I don't know when, I don't know how long, but I've been obsessed and consumed with the need to be in everything you are and I don't think I'll ever untangle myself from you and I _don't want to be free_."

Maybe under different circumstances this would have been gentler. They could have talked it over cocoa, soft and sweet. But Jester was too far gone for that to be enough right now. She needed him like this, raw and honest and at his core. She needed to know if he wanted her or not, if he could feel for her like she felt for him…

Caleb shook his head slowly, the beast inside crouched and horrifically _ready to spring._ “Jester Lavorre, I am _fucked up._ You _do not want this.”_

He needed to understand that she wanted him, _every part_ of him…

"If you tell me what I _fucking want_ one more time Cayleb, I _will_ punch you,” Jester growled, fists clenched.

Caleb felt his mouth _open…_ his jaws bared, _defensive_ and protective, eyes wild and face pale.

_“Fucking try it.”_

Jester would never hurt Caleb. They both knew it. But they were both strung tight and at the breaking point. Both were feral. High on emotion.

And she could always heal him after.

So **_fuck it._ **

With an enraged sound Jester bared her teeth and launched herself at him. Caleb felt like he’d been hit by a brick wall. 

The pain didn’t even register when his head hit the tile, the sharp _crack_ aching in the back of his jaws as he frantically, breathlessly forced her soaked nightgown up around her hips. He was hooking his fingers into her underwear and _pulling,_ feral and reduced to his most base desires. If she refused to regret it, she would regret _this._ He was _fucking ready_ for her to hate him.

It took less than a second for her to process what he was doing. Something inside Jester screamed in triumph, _roared_ in its sudden victory to make Caleb Widogast lose control! Be _wild_ and _take_ what he wanted!

But she wasn't going to make it easy.

Her fingernails dug into his wet red hair, forcing Caleb's head back. The kiss was like the punch she promised, all teeth and it _hurt._ And she didn't give him time to recover, heart pounding as she moved to his exposed neck, sharp, hungry teeth sinking into soft muscle.

“AH! _Fuck—!”_

The shock shot up Caleb spine, lighting white hot fireworks at the back of his skull and shooting straight to his cock. A booming, rumbling snarl ripped from his chest, an echo of old _fury_ as he embraced the sensation of being pinned down and straddled against unforgiving stone. Caleb’s eyes blazed, and he _surged_ forward with all his might, heat pulsing through his body like alchemical fire.

Jester gasped and _grunted,_ eyes flying wide with surprise as she was knocked off balance. “Ah—!”

Her back hit the bathroom floor. _“Fuck,_ Cayleb— _AH!!”_

A gasp of wild ecstasy and abandon ripped from her throat, eyes wide with shock and _mind numbing_ pleasure as she felt him push her panties aside, just enough to let a hot cock slide in… _penetrating_ her with a soaked, hot _sting,_ spreading her open on his girth...

Caleb’s cock pushed the rest of the way inside that quivering entrance. He rested his body on top of her, out of breath and lost in her beautiful blue form, like a sailor lost in the night sky… then, he forced her head down. 

Jester _groaned,_ a heated breath washing over her exposed throat as her tits began to bounce. Caleb was _fucking her._

"Ah! Ah! AH!" she couldn't hold back any of her sounds even if she wanted to. Obscene screams and moans were forced out of her with each thrust, her head forced back so that she had no choice but to scream her pleasure to the room.

Her fingernails scratched at the flagstone floor, trying to find _anything_ to hold onto. But there was nothing. So she held onto him.

Her eyes rolled back as Caleb changed the angle, thrusting into her in such a way that brushed past her cluster of sensitive nerves and pounded somewhere _deep._ Deeper than she had ever taken any toy before. It made her cries turn into something broken, a whimpering _wail_ as he turned her body against her.

Nails weakly scratched down Caleb's back as he felt her quiver around him. Another hard thrust at the same spot had her thighs _spreading,_ her wet pussy fluttering and going soft for him. 

"C-Cayleb--! _AAAH_ !" she wailed, clinging to him. "Mmm, oh! _Oh!_ "

Caleb’s teeth grazed across her throat. _You don’t get to_ **_do_ ** _this to me…_

His heart weighed down, cracking and bursting into a thousand pieces as he kept _going,_ treasuring every gasp, every pulse of pleasure and torturous anger that washed over his brain. 

_I shouldn’t be doing this to you… You deserve better…_

But he didn’t stop. He _could._ He could pull out of her. He could apologize. He could do the right thing.

He didn’t. Because he _didn’t want to stop._

_You’ll regret this._

Caleb bit her neck, sucking a bruise into it, feeling the pop of excitement and pleasure as if beyond a veil. He focused on the wound… and moved down to her shoulder, sinking his teeth in until he tasted cool purple blood. It was horrifically _refreshing._ Coppery and cold. She was gasping under him… but she didn’t tell him to stop. So he _didn’t._

The cool taste of her blood spread over his tongue… dripping onto the tile…

Caleb opened his dark, furious eyes. With blood in his mouth, her flesh on his tongue, and his cock buried deep inside the woman he loved… he didn’t hold back. His arousal was a flame, burning higher and hotter. He knew that when it vanished, there would be a blackened waste in its wake. In this moment, there was no guilt. No sadness. Only desire. And blood. And _fire._

His thrusts slowed to something hard and punishing, watching her lashes flutter and her lips part on a blissful keen. Sweat clung to her skin, the smell of sex filling the room… and suddenly, strong hands were on him again, gripping his hair and shoulder as she pulled him against her. They both gasped at the new angle, and she wasted no time. 

She needed to do this before he fucked her brains out entirely. Her mind was already half gone, sucked down to her hungry, aching sex, her knees _shaking_ on either side of his hips.

Caleb hissed as she tugged his hair sharply, pulling his face to hers. She kissed him then, tasting her blood on his tongue and utterly _devouring_ him as best she could. 

She wrapped a weakened leg around his waist, pulling him right to her body, _begging_ for more.

Caleb’s body shivered. “Fuck—!”

She broke the kiss with a wet grunt, eyes blazing as she locked them with him. "Y-you should know better than to taste _tiefling_ blood, n-nn... You might _bind yourself_ to them…"

“Drinking a devil’s blood… That is a _myth…”_ Caleb hissed, bloodied teeth bared.

"M-maybe it is, you'll never know. Besides, it-- mmm! It won't matter…!"

She bared her teeth in a feral smile. "It's true enough for _me._ "

Jester struck like a viper, sharp teeth breaking the skin where his neck met his shoulder. Blood filled her mouth and she _moaned_. Her hold on him weakened a bit, her surge of strength starting to fail her as lust and need won out. She licked his new wound, grinning against his ear.

"I won't heal that. I want it to _scar._ I'll never let you leave me Cayleb. _Never."_

Caleb blinked down at her. “...That—“

Heat and, most dangerously, _affection_ spiked in his belly.

“Th-That is, um... hot…” Caleb whispered.

“Yeeeaaaah?” Jester beamed up at him, looking like she might _giggle._

“Ja…” Caleb breathed, eyes flickering across her face. His brows came down, almost confused, adoration and fear and overwhelming, choking _affection_ closing around his throat. “You… You aren’t scared. Wh… Why aren’t you _scared…?”_

"Why would I be scared of you, Cayleb?" She asked, breathing deeply now that he had stilled, letting her recover just enough to have a rational thought. "I want this… I _asked_ for this. Okay, more like _demanded_ but _still…_ "

Jester wrapped her arms around his neck, gentler than before. _Warmer_ than before. "I want you, _all of you,_ and seeing you finally break that control of yours? Finally take something you want for once, not denying yourself? It's _hot._ Like, _really_ hot, Cayleb."

She pulled him into another kiss, this one sweeter despite the blood in their mouths. She shivered, feeling his blood drip into the wound on her shoulder. Imagining her blood mixing with his, pushed through _his_ heart...

" _Claim_ me, Cayleb. I _want_ you to keep me. Because I want to keep you too…"

Caleb felt goosebumps rise across every inch of his body, eyes locked on her. Her hair was soaked with bathwater, her sopping nightgown clinging to her curves like a lover’s hands. Her own blood was staining her nightgown and clinging to the tips of her hair… and her mouth was _scarlet._

The monster in him shrieked victoriously, screaming to claim his prize.

Caleb looked down at their entwined bodies, relishing the ache and pulse of his new wounds… and looked back up at her. 

“I thought you wanted—“ _Fjord. “—_ someone else…”

He licked his lips, red in the face as he hid his expression from her. Oh god. It was coming. It was coming back. “I do not want to ruin that for you…”

"Oh, _Cayleb…”_

Jester didn't have much strength or will left to be much of a fight, but she had enough to roll them over. She sat up on top of him, giving him a playful, scolding look. "I _really_ thought you knew!”

“Knew what?” Caleb deadpanned, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I mean, you're so smart, how can you _not_ know? I think your big heart likes to get in the way of that big brain sometimes!”

“Bless me with your insight,” Caleb muttered, still crimson in the face and awkwardly hilt-deep inside her. He had no idea how to navigate this. Why were they suddenly having a conversation on a bloody bathroom floor?

Jester leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose, nipping it gently. "I don't have to choose, Cayleb. Instead, I'm going to be selfish for once. I want you, and _Fjord_ wants you too."

Caleb shifted uncomfortably. “That is an assumption,” he mumbled. “I have witnessed no such thing…”

He felt himself going soft. 

"I'll prove it to you later then," Jester huffed, rolling her eyes. "I've seen it, and I've seen how he treated you when you were… not yourself. But whatever, it doesn't matter, if I'm wrong it _still_ doesn't matter."

Jester raised a brow at him. "I mean, _he's_ not the one I had an angry confession of love and am now sitting on his cock in the bathroom now is he?"

Caleb blushed bright red. He didn’t answer, cursing softly in Zemnian as he covered his heated face. Jester frowned, feeling her own face start to heat up beyond lust and more towards embarrassment. Had she taken it too far? She clearly ruined the mood, which was a shame. It had been so _hot_ and _wild_ and she had been _so close…_

"Um…" Jester shifted a bit, flinching when she felt how soft he had gotten inside of her. 

Caleb immediately wished that a crack would open beneath him and swallow him whole. It would be better than having to deal with _this_ situation. He had lost his arousal entirely. _Don’t, don’t, oh gods, why is this happening to me…?!_

Jester swallowed. She wasn't experienced enough to salvage this... as much as it crushed her to realize it.

Jester hesitated, wavering, then carefully started to get up, which was near impossible. Her knees were still shaking and her legs were ready to give out. "I should… let you clean up I guess…? Um…"

Caleb squeezed her thighs, fingers tightening. Nearly hard enough to bruise.

Jester hesitated again, still shaking. She whined softly, but she had to sit back down on Caleb or fall down. She looked down at him, breasts heaving...

The wizard was quiet for a moment… then finally, he looked up at her.

“I desire you,” Caleb confessed, his voice hoarse and thick. “I desire you… so much more than I should. For longer than I should have. And— I am sorry. For not telling you sooner. But it… I am trying. I would like to try, with you. I don’t know about Fjord. He is… He is handsome. He is hard to read. And about him, I-I do not know how I feel. If we are to… do something together… I would like to discuss it first. Please. These trysts… They are tremulous things. There is so much happening now, and I—“

Caleb swallowed, looking up at her _imploringly, begging_ her to listen to him. “Regardless of what Fjord says… I would like our first time to not be bleeding on a bathroom floor. I would like to… plan. To show you something better. You’ve— You’ve seen the worst of me and not shied away. I would like to show you the best of me… if you’ll give me a little more time.”

Jester softened around him, her smile full of affection and devotion. His words eased a bit of that ache inside of her, made her ease on top of him. Her body was still shaky and thrumming, her heart and her sex pounding in unison, but she could wait. She could take care of herself later.

And she could wait for him. She had waited a long time already. She could wait a little longer.

"See, more romantic than _any_ book I ever read," Jester told him softly. "I would like that, a _lot._ A-And we will talk about the Fjord thing later, it's okay! It’s okay. Having him with us would be nice but I choose _you._ I choose you _first._ So no hiding. I don't care who knows we are together. I _want_ to be with you, I want us to be comfortable with our affection around our friends. We don't have to hide anything. Obviously I'm not saying like, make out in full view, but… I want to hold your hand, and hug you, and snuggle, and maybe steal kisses? I want… I want to build a life with you and the Nein. _Our_ family…"

She blushed a bit, glancing away from him. "You should uh, let me up now though I think… before I embarrass myself…"

Caleb bit his lip, hesitating… then he looked up at her hopefully.

“Can I watch?” he asked softly. 

Jester's blush darkened, suddenly shy. But fresh heat pooled in her belly regardless. “Um…”

“It— It would be something nice to… have in my mind. Now that I can remember things again…”

"Um… I don't think I could move right away if I wanted to, so… do you mind if I…?"

Caleb blinked at her, a second passing... then his eyes widened in realization. He flushed, but he nodded, scooting up and pulling them both over far enough so that he could brace his back against the wall. 

He massaged her hips, urging her to do whatever she wanted. _Whatever_ she needed.

_I’m sorry. You can have me. You can use me. You can cast me aside. I’m yours. Whatever you want of me. Take all that I am._

Maybe it was selfish to do this when he couldn't get it up, but Jester wasn't sure she would be able to finish _without_ him inside of her. And maybe she could make it a nice show, a good memory. 

With that thought in mind, she reached down and pulled her soaked nightgown up over her head. It plopped to the stone tile, revealing pebbled nipples, plump breasts, the swell of her hips, and the spot where they were still connected, her panties just _pushed_ out of the way and the base of his girth flushed pink against her blue skin...

"Is this okay…?" she whispered, lashes lowered. 

Caleb had no words. He could only let out an awed breath through his nose, his thumbs sliding down the muscular, soft swell of her abdomen. She was so _strong..._

She thought she felt him twitch inside of her, but chalked that up to wishful thinking. 

Jester started to swivel her hips in tight little figure eights, tiny punched out noises escaping her as she moved. "C-Cay…" she gasped, already feeling that coil start to wind tightly in her gut. "Mmm…!"

Caleb’s lashes fluttered, stunned by the sight as Jester reached up and pinched her nipples, playing with her own breasts with a breathy groan. She leaned forward slightly, grinding her clit down against Caleb's untamed pubic hair. The sensation was making her _tremble,_ lips parting on an obscene mewl.

"Mmm, a-ah…!"

Caleb leaned forward, like a _magnet_ had pulled him, breathlessly closing his teeth over her bottom lip and half kissing, half _biting_ at her mouth. Jester quivered, her pussy clenching around his half-hard length, and wrapped her free arm around his shoulders. 

Her second one slid lower, working and rubbing at her clit. _“A-Ah—!”_

Caleb rested his knuckles against her hand, effortlessly memorizing the pattern of movement, eyes glazed over. “Du bist atemberaubend…” he whispered, blue eyes locked with glazed purple.

She whimpered, lips parted wetly as she watched the movement of his own mouth. "I-I like when you speak Zemnian," she admitted huskily. "I-It… I-It’s s-so nice… a-ah…!"

“Danke…”

Jester whined, fingers working herself a little bit faster as her hips rolled. "What are you s-saying? Or j-just… talk more? I l-l-like hearing you talk, like your v-voice… mm!"

Caleb rested his lips against the bite in her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the bloody mark as if he could summon the magic to heal it. “Wenn du mich verstehen könntest, würde ich dir sagen, wie schön du bist…” he whispered.

She shuddered and rocked against him faster. “A-Ah… ah ah _ahnnmm_ ah _ah!”_

“Meine Geliebte… _Jester…”_ Caleb breathed against her throat.

The words washed over her like a hot brand. Her name on his tongue was what did her in, head tilted back in rapture as he nuzzled into her throat. She felt his hot breath and burning tongue against her skin… she reached her climax with a _shout._ It was a dark, possessive, _powerful_ thing… something raw, with something unsaid even now...

Jester clung to him, trembling as she rode the cresting waves. Her mouth fell open on a silent keen… and finally she went limp, breathing heavily into his chest. 

Her release made a mess of his lap. "Ah… ah, mnn…"

Caleb crooned into her wound, eyes never closing. Fixed on the far wall. Feeling himself disassociate… and slowly, passively soften, back to an inert state inside her. He had fulfilled his purpose. He had been sufficient. “Gutes Mädchen…” he breathed, Zemnian rolling off his tongue like melted chocolate. “Good girl…”

"Mnnn, _fuuuuuck,_ don't do thaaaat," Jester whined softly, fussing. "You'll just get me worked up agaaaaain, staaaahp…"

That startled a laugh out of Caleb. He exhaled in exhaustion, resting his head back against the wall, new aches and pains making themselves known as the endorphins faded. 

He winced, coming back to himself, and reached up, touching the back of his head. “Goodness. You whacked me good.”

"I'm sorry…” Jester apologized softly, looking at him sadly. She reached up and ran her hands through his hair, casting a quick healing word. "You just… you made me _mad,_ so…”

Caleb’s eyes emptied. “I’m sorry. I will not make you angry again…”

“It’s okaaaaaay…” Jester mumbled, kissing his forehead. He seemed to tremble softly under her, coming back to himself again, just enough to focus again. “It’s not your fault.”

With a blush high on her cheeks she got to work casting a few spells here and there. She healed up the bruises and cuts, taking care of his poor head.

However, when she got to his neck and shoulder, Jester just _preened_. "That will leave a pretty scar,” she purred proudly.

Caleb cleared his throat. “Well, ah, can we clean it and bandage it… at the very least? I doubt I, um… will be very appealing to you with half my shoulder rotting off….”

“O-Oh! Yeah! Totally.”

Suddenly, a soft mew echoed from the door. 

Caleb glanced over, and let out a soft _gasp._

Frumpkin and Princess were sitting in the threshold of the doorway.

“Hello!” Caleb whispered, his voice pitching up, all his attention instantly captured by the fact that there was a kitten in the room. He held out his hand. “Oh hello, old friend…! And who is _this_ beautiful young lady…?”

Princess wandered in, curiously investigating the puddles of water. Meanwhile, Frumpkin hopped over to his master and began to purr like a cat ten times his size, rubbing his body happily against Caleb’s hand.

Jester beamed, hands busy as she cleaned their matching bite marks. "That's Princess! I got her for you.”

“For _me?_ Really?” Caleb whispered, quietly delighted.

At her name, the little kitten perked up and wandered over to Jester, mewling softly in complaint. Jester cooed and picked her up, uncaring that she was still naked and sitting on Caleb. "She's a good girl that likes cuddles! She's already trained and everything!"

She held the kitten out to Caleb, giggling as the kitten licked his nose.

Caleb’s expression melted. He picked her up and rubbed his face against her belly, relishing that wonderful new-kitten smell. He inhaled happily, and smiled blissfully as he cuddled the tiny, floppy kitten. “She is beautiful. I love her to pieces.”

"Oh yaaay, I'm so glad! I got her just the other day and…"

Jester carefully got off of Caleb's lap, straightening her panties before sitting beside him on the floor. "I think she's what helped you trust me enough to… heal you."

Caleb peered over at Jester and quickly back down, giving Princess little scritches. "How do you mean?”

Jester sighed, brushing some his wet hair out of his face with a gentle touch. "After what she did to you, you were a bit… traumatized, even in that state. Any magic at all sent you into panic attacks. It scared me, and we were all _so_ worried, Cayleb! We wanted to heal you, but we couldn't bear to force another spell on you when you were so scared of us and in so much pain! We needed time to find her anyway, and you needed to rest… so, we agreed to split up! And we have been here for, like, a day and a half, and…”

Jester didn't realize her eyes had gotten wet, but she was still smiling. "Frumpkin helped, and you really liked Princess. And you painted with me, and… even though I was frustrated just then, I knew… I _knew_ you _trusted me._ "

She beamed at him, full of love and adoration. "So, I brought you back to me…"

Jester leaned forward and stole a soft, sweet kiss, nuzzling into his cheek. "But, enough of that! I have you back and we have plans to make! Lots and lots of plans! What do you want me to do first, Cayleb?"

Caleb opened his mouth… then closed it. He cleared his throat, completely pink in the face.

What had just _happened?_

“Well… I-I do still need you to send those messages to Essek and Fjord,” he murmured. “And I need to find a jeweler’s shop…”

He glanced at her. “I also need you to help me steal something.”

"Ooooh?" She perked up with interest. "What is it?"

Caleb took a deep, resigned breath. He didn’t _want_ to do this… but he had no gold. He had little choice. 

“I need you to help me steal roughly a quarter-pound of fire opals. Five thousand gold pieces worth. And a diamond, worth one thousand. And a pearl, if you can find one.”

Jester let out a low whistle. "That's a loooot… Think I should get Veth to help me? I mean, I'll totally do it, easy, and I'll do it alone if you want me to keep it hush hush! But I'm _sure_ Veth would wanna help too, and she's _verrrry_ good at that kind of thing."

Caleb perked up. “Veth is here? I-I— yes, absolutely. She is _very_ good at stealing things.”

"Of course Veth is here, silly! She refused to leave your side! She's going to be so happy to see you and I'm sure she's itching to do something to help! She’ll love this!"

Jester stood up and stretched — looking like the cat that got the cream — and squeaked with contentment. She scooped up her ruined nightgown. "I'm going to go grab some clothes. Clean yourself up a bit and I'll be back with some clothes for you too! Do you want to keep wearing Fjord's sleeping shirt that you stole? Or should I grab one of your more normal outfits?"

“Um… normal.” _I cannot be seen in his clothes when I see him again. I might just die._ “Normal outfit. Coat and scarf. Thank you.”

"Okay, I'll be right back!"

Jester all but skipped out of the bathroom, giving Caleb the room. 

Caleb lay there against the wall, dazed and bewildered. Everything in him was spinning like a top, whirling so fast in circles that everything blurred together. Just the same, he felt like he was somehow _balanced_ by turmoil. It was the only thing keeping him from stopping entirely. Or falling off the already shaky table of his own sanity and plummeting to whatever lay below. It kept him thinking. Kept him feeling.

_That was wonderful. I hope it was alright for her… I hope I pleased her..._

Astrid used to be _very_ demanding as well. At least he brought a little experience to the table… even if his libido seemed to be a little damaged. Used goods.

_Just like the rest of me._

_A little damaged._

_Used goods…_

_It makes sense…_

_…_

_……_

_…………_

Princess meowed at him.

Caleb looked up, startled from his stupor by the kitten’s mewl. He was _cold;_ he was too cold to have just been sitting there for a few moments, even though he swore that he was just there for a handful of seconds. He furrowed his brow and shivered, rubbing at his wet arms. His bones suddenly _ached._

How long had he just been sitting there? Staring at the wall?

Caleb stumbled to his feet, wincing at the crick in his spine. “Sorry, little one…” he mumbled, rolling his shoulders.

Princess mewled at him again.

Suddenly, Jester darted back in. was wearing one of her casual dresses, hair pulled up into a little bun. "Here you go!" she chirped, handing him some of his usual pants and skirt, his coat resting on top. "Veth is downstairs making dinner, I think." 

Caleb put Princess on his shoulder — who balanced there surprisingly well for a kitten — and accepted the bundle from her. “Thank you…”

Frumpkin, jealous as a cat could ever be, twined between his ankles and meowed noisily at the kitten’s favored placement. 

“Oh, hush, you. Go downstairs, both of you.” 

Caleb set Princess down. “Go get something to eat,” he scolded his cats. “I will be down in a minute.”

Frumpkin meowed unhappily and trotted from the room. Princess mewled and waddled after him on her oversized paws.

Caleb had to watch for a moment as they left. A tiny smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I love it!” he whispered. He made a little gesture with his finger. “When baby cats walk around with their tails straight up like that? To stay balanced? Ahhhh, it is so good…”

"Baby tieflings walk like that too, you know," Jester giggled, waddling forward. She cutely poked out her tail to demonstrate. "We have to learn how to balance, so we use our little tails to help!”

“That is adorable,” Caleb smiled softly. 

He sifted through his clothes, and thankfully found everything that was supposed to be there. He disentangled the underwear from the bundle and started to put it on, peering up at Jester. “By the way… Did you say Veth is _downstairs?”_

“Ya!”

“Wouldn’t she have… heard us?”

"Uh… maybe?" Jester hummed. She shrugged, looking unbothered. "I mean, possibly. But I told you! I don't want to hide this. Okay _yes,_ she is likely gonna _embarrass us_ cause she's _Veth_ and she's a mom and she's our friend but still!"

Caleb flushed and ducked his head. “Well, we have little time for dinner. I have to speak to Essek right away. Can—“

He paused, thinking about it. “Well, I shouldn’t speak to Essek before we get the fire opals. I need those. And— the faster we get all these things, the sooner we can get back to the others, yes? Have you spoken to Fjord?”

Jester shook her head, trying to keep up with the conversation. "Uh, no. Not yet. What do you want me to tell him exactly?"

 _“To stop where he is._ Unless they are nearly to the address at this point, they must stay where they are and wait for us. They should not walk blindly into a place where Miss Becker might be. It could be dangerous.”

"Okay! I can do that, uh…"

She went to cast Sending, and when she attempted to tap into her well of divine energy… nothing happened.

Jester faltered. “O-Oh. I… must have… used my last spell slot to cast Greater Restoration on you…” she mumbled. She looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry, Cayleb…”

Caleb stared at her, startled. “You have been using your spells all day? What on earth happened?”

“N-No no no! No. It-- It wasn’t _crazy,_ I was just having a conversation with Fjord and I…”

Jester shrugged at him, offering a sheepish little smile. “I miiiiight’ve gone a little overboard?”

“Ah… well.”

Caleb took a deep breath, rubbing his face and doing the math. “Just as well, I suppose. I still feel like I’ve been run over by a wagon…” he admitted. “Not to mention I will need eight quiet, undisturbed hours to re-form my transmuter’s stone, and several hours on Rumblecusp once we get the fire opals. Not necessarily in that order, but… I will need time, even after we join the others. Like you said. I must recover. Otherwise I will not be of _any_ use.”

“Are we asking Essek for a teleport?” Jester asked curiously.

“Yes, but…” Caleb looked almost embarrassed. “I need spells from him, too. To copy accurately.”

"Well, that's smart, but… what are you going to copy them on? Do you want me to steal paper and ink too? I could get you that fancy _gold_ ink I saw!”

Caleb shook his head. “No, I… perhaps I do need expensive ink, but… an expensive needle would perhaps be more important,” he told her. Subconsciously, he rubbed at his scarred forearms. “I… _must_ be able to cast an offensive spell, and I _must_ be able to cast Counterspell. Even without my book, those two are extraordinarily effective on their own. Besides, three pages worth of equations and glyphs is all I can do on these skinny arms…”

Jester’s eyes went round as tea saucers. "Caleb… are you going to _tattoo spells_ onto _yourself?"_

"I know how it sounds--"

"It sounds _awesome!”_

Caleb blinked in surprise. “Oh. Ja?”

Jester cut in, looking amazed and excited. "That's so _smart,_ Caleb! Why hadn't we thought of that before?! Oh, please please _please_ let me help! I can tattoo! Or I can help design them, I'll make them look _so_ good, Cayleb!”

Caleb’s face softened, a tiny smile hidden in the corners of his mouth. “Blueberry, I would barely trust anyone with my skin, and you _know_ I would trust you with it. However, this is _dire_ precision work and very _learned_ work. I am likely going to have to do it myself.”

Jester wilted. “Oh…”

“But—“

She perked up. “But?”

Caleb offered her a little smile. “When I am done, you can embellish the blank spots... if you want.”

"Yes yes yes yes _yes~!”_ Jester cheered, clapping her hands excitedly. "Okay! So, we will sleep, and we will do all the things in the morning! Because you are still recovering! You still need rest!! Oh! But wait!!”

Jester raised her voice. "VETH! Cayleb needs us to steal shit! Wanna help me steal shit?!”

“Let me grab my stuff!" came the muffled call from the other side of the wall. 

Caleb turned a dark pink, immediately tucking his face into his hands. “Mein godt. She was on the other side of the…?”

Veth barged in and gave Caleb a hug. She squeezed him tightly. "Don't fucking _do that_ to me again!”

Caleb threw his arms up in bewilderment. “Don’t do what, _get murdered?_ I’ll do my best. Sheisse...” 

He kissed the top of Veth’s head. “It was not intentional.”

“You _know_ what I mean, wizard boy!”

“Would you like to help Jester steal a metric shitload of gems in the morning, because I am exhausted and broke?” Caleb proposed.

“Absolutely! But, uh— remind me why we’re getting this?”

Caleb made a face and sighed in resignation. “That woman has had my spellbook for days. She has had time to copy some of my most powerful spells. Wall of Fire, Widogast’s Web of Fire, Fireball. And if the only offensive spell I have at my disposal will be Fireball and if I happen to end up in a closed space… I would rather take far less damage from any of that. That, and I am far too prideful to take full damage from my own spells.”

Jester gasped and squished her cheeks. “Wait. _Wait._ You’re getting a gem tattoo _too?!_ What will it _say?!_ Where are you getting it _done?!”_

Caleb gave her a soft look, full of affection and an unspoken, bittersweet love. Maybe one day, she would understand the mistake she had just made. Until then, he would sink his claws into her. 

And he would _not_ let go.

“Celestial runes. Down my spine. _‘I have passed through fire…’”_


	13. Sunflower Cemetery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of his awakening, Caleb, Jester, and Veth discuss next steps and things get slightly out of control. Meanwhile, Emmeline agrees to a kind of truce... and finally meets her mysterious mentor.

Emmeline had never had an imaginary dream. 

Even as a child, her little brain had never conjured up visions of dolls, candies, or far-off lands. She never had dreams about flying or falling. For as long as she could remember, she had always dreamed in memories, so the moments that she _remembered_ were never few, never far between. Sometimes, though, the memories — the _dreams_ — were _good_ ones. Distant, somber, and sweet… laced with annoyance and love and bright, crooked smiles shining through.

By all means, after the consecutive terrible, stressful nights she had had, Emmeline fully expected to have the snow dream again, or the carriage dream. But it seemed, that evening, her subconscious was willing to give her a small relief from the shit month she’d had...

_-It was a warm autumn night, when she was six._

_“You can’t be_ **_serious!_ ** _You told me you’d be able to act_ **_fucking normal!”_ **

_Emmeline sat, her tiny body curled up under her sheets as she listened to her father scream at her mother— his voice muffled through the floor. She was a squat, plush-cheeked, pale-haired little toddler, with a rosy face and pouty lips, her fat legs tangled in a silky nightgown. She was a well-fed merchant’s child, with coin-purchased toys, who had not known hunger yet._

_It was the same room that would become the master bedroom once Aldrich would buy it, all those years later._

_The Becker Estate would become the Bloody Estate. Then, a decade later, the Schulze Estate… but that was another dream. Another memory. Another story. She was in this one. And she didn’t want to miss a chance to see him._

_There was a soft knock on the door._

_Emmeline bumbled out of her sheets and gathered up her favorite stuffed bear for luck, creeping silently across the sturdiest parts of the floor. The floorboards in her room were creaky. She had to be quiet whenever she moved, find the quiet spots, or else Papa would hear her and yell at her — very scary and very_ **_loud_ ** _— to go back to bed. And she hated it when Papa was angry with her…_

_Emmeline opened the door for Elias._

_Her sixteen-year-old brother crept inside and picked her up. Emmeline wrapped her tiny arms around him, sighing in relief. Elias was here. She was safe from the yelling now._

_Elias Becker was a strapping young man, the spitting image of their mother with frizzy, golden blonde curls. His eyes were wary, always alert — protective, intelligent, and sweet, framed with lashes so long they sometimes tangled with each other — a soft, warm brown in the sunlight and in the flickering flames of the hearth. He had broad shoulders, like their father, and a worry line between his brows where a sixteen-year-old should not._

_He awkwardly stepped across the treacherous wooden floor, up into her bed, and sat down with a sigh._

_Emmeline offered him her stuffed bear. “Will you make Tufty dance?” she whispered._

_Elias shook his head, smiling halfheartedly down at her. “Not tonight, shorty,” he whispered back._

_“Aww…”_

_“I’ll do it tomorrow, okay?”_

_“Okay…” Emmeline pouted, her bottom lip sticking out unhappily. Her eyes wandered down to the floor, where the muffled barrage of verbal abuse was still seeping through, like a cold, unwelcome breeze._

_“What is Papa yelling at Mama about now?” she whispered, squeezing Tufty close._

_Elias sighed, eyes flickering across the wood grain in the floor, as if he could find the answers if he searched hard enough. “You know about Mother’s condition.”_

_“Uh huh. Arrhythmia.”_

_“Ar...?” Her big brother squinted down at her curiously. “What?”_

_“Arrhythmia. Her heart doesn’t beat right. I read it in a book,” Emmeline informed him, looking up at him innocently._

_A tiny, crooked, bewildered smile crossed Elias’s handsome face. He grinned, biting back a soft laugh, and wrapped her up tightly in his arms. A kiss pressed — quick and affectionate — against the top of her head. “Smartie,” he mumbled. “Don’t say that around Papa though, okay?”_

_“Why not? Maybe we can fix it. Then Papa won’t yell at her anymore.”_

_Elias’s lopsided smile turned bittersweet. “That’s… That’s not really why he yells at her,” he muttered. Trying not to look so troubled. “I don’t think so, anyway.”_

_He took a deep breath and smiled down at her, his cheer forced but good enough for a worried six-year-old. “Let’s talk about something else. How abouuuut… frogs?”_

_Emmeline beamed up at him. “I like frogs! I like…”-_

“Ah… ma’am?”

Emmeline startled from her sleep. Elias’s face vanished in a warped, painful swirl of light, replaced by beams of dusky afternoon sun. 

A small shadow was looming over her, peering down at her bedraggled form, surrounded by about ten blinking frogs. “Hello?”

Oh. Right.

Emmeline groaned, fingers bumping against her face. “Mm…”

Last night. She had soared into Blumenthal as a giant eagle and taken shelter in the first barn she saw. Thankfully she hadn’t perched in the rafters, which had been her _first_ instinct; as it was, her hair was ruined, damp and tangled with threads of straw. Everything hurt. Tasted like _muck._

“Are you dead?”

Emmeline eyed the child grouchily. 

Disregarding those wide, curious eyes, she grunted with effort and stood, pushing herself up out of the straw; the child stared, eyes round as tea saucers as the enchantress straightened up, brushed herself off as best she could, and walked out of the barn into the blazing daylight. Emmeline picked up her feet, trying to avoid the worst of the mud as she rifled through her spellbook, and cast Polymorph once more.

The child watched the bedraggled woman shrink, transform, and take off on the speckled wings of a common sparrow. “Whoahhh…”

Shorn barley fields rippled like a golden ocean in every direction, morning dew from last night’s rain sparkling over the shortened stems. As she flew, Emmeline could see dark patches of earth, where the farmers had tilled and turned over their fields that rare, sunny morning. The smell of cool, fresh earth filled her senses, sending her little sparrow brain sparkling with energy. She flew in a tiny spiral of excitement and soared happily over the fields towards the nearest market.

Blumenthal was a large town -- a population of nearly four thousand people in total -- a sprawling collection of rural farmsteads in clusters of five to ten, each cluster connected by a small local market and a stout silhouette of an administration building. In the distance, tall Crownsguard watchtowers stood at the edges of the fields. The guards themselves stood at attention, surveying the farmers at work, not bothering with an out-of-place sparrow as Emmeline flew past them. As the main source of food and produce for the capital, Blumenthal hardly had a sprawling metropolis of its own. The farmers here worked in all weather, tending their fat, wooly cows and cold-weather crops. Many were content with the simple, hard working life they led, while others -- like her husband, Aldrich Schulze, and his father before him -- strove to rise in wealth and status, whether it be in trade or administration. No matter who lived here in the town of Blumenthal, the watchful eye of the Crown was felt in every direction; nonthreatening for most, but _keenly_ attentive.

Emmeline glided down to the second-floor windowsill of the administration building and hopped down onto the carpet. Still as a sparrow, she peeked around. No one home. The officer who lived here was likely out for the afternoon. _The perks of waking up at noon, I suppose,_ Emmeline thought. Or she might have thought, were she not a sparrow.

She dropped her Polymorph, grabbed a dry towel, and went to go take a hot bath. She _sorely_ needed one.

Then she needed to go find ‘ _Leon Sonnenblume.’_ He would know, at the very least, the next steps she had to take.

…

_“Fjoooooooooooooooooooooooooooord!!”_

Fjord jumped awake, dazed and startled as Jester’s voice came kicking in the front door of his brain. He sat up like a shot, his hair tousled every which way, blinking widely and slowly. _“Fjord, I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything earlier, Cayleb is awake!”_

Fjord’s stomach flipped. What?!

...

“We got jewels and tattoos and we’re coming in a couple hours!!” Jester continued enthusiastically, unaware of the turmoil she had just caused.

She turned to Caleb and grinned. “All done!”

“Did you ask him where they’re staying?” Caleb murmured, a little shakily.

“Oh. I forgot. It’s okay, I can ask again if he doesn’t say!”

_“Uh— A couple hours?! I— I— yeah. Yeah. Just— okay. I thought you weren’t going to wake him up for— it’s okay. ...Caramouth Cottage. Rexxentrum.”_

“Oop! He sent back! Yup yup, they’re at a cottage in Rexxentrum!”

Jester was sitting with Veth aboard the Eden’s Horizon, swinging her feet and watching Caleb’s tattoo take form as timbers creaked quietly around them. Layer upon layer of crushed fire opal was pushed into his skin, the high-pitched buzz of an impossibly sharp needle forcing gemstone dust into his body in fine, curved, intricate lines. Caleb had both hands in his hair… trying to keep himself calm, but still in a cold sweat despite the warm mist of Heaven’s Falls.

“--lot of runes.”

Caleb caught his breath, swallowing and hearing his ears pop. Veth had said something. “Mm?”

“I said for only five words, it’s a lot of runes,” Veth repeated herself, leaning a little closer. “You okay?”

“Y-Yes. Yes. I am fine…”

"It's beautiful, Cayleb," Jester murmured, beaming at him. "I think you chose the _perfect_ tattoo.”

"And it's finished now," Veth pointed out, her own expression gone a bit more somber. "Do you need a healing potion after all that? I brought extra."

Caleb shivered, the slender muscles in his back tense as he pushed himself up. “Save it,” he mumbled. “I’m not sure it would help, anyway… and we may need those soon.”

He looked over at Orly gratefully. “Thank you for penciling me in.”

“Mm-m-m-my pleasure.” The old tortle peered down at the needle and the intricate pages of tattoos that Caleb was about to free-hand on himself. “D-Dooo… y-you wanna take a break before th-that…?”

Caleb nodded, fingers shaking as he rested his hands on his feverish face. “Gods, I do believe I underestimated my constitution… Nonetheless, thank you…”

Warmth suddenly filled him as a bright pink glow settled into his lap. He looked down, blinking at the familiar, glowing, squishy pink bunny of Jester’s Beacon of Hope. Jester snuggled in happily on his other side, plopping the Beacon into his lap. “You can afford to take a break, Cayleb," she promised, smiling sweetly at him. "It's alright! And I'll help as best I can when the time comes. I gotta make sure these turn out good!”

Caleb took a breath, nodding quietly and stroking the bunny’s ears. It’s fur had the same soft, bubbling sensation as spa water, magically relaxing his muscles and encouraging healing. “You are being very sweet to me,” he observed, looking up at Jester curiously. “This is not a cheap spell, is it?”

She shrugged. "It's okayyyyy. We will all need to take a rest before rejoining the others anyway. I'll recover it. Besides, it helps you right? I want to help anyway I can…"

She kissed his cheek. "Let me fret over you a little okay?”

Caleb’s brows furrowed. “Jester…”

“Hey, I’m gonna spoil you! No one cares if I spoil you a little!”

“It’s not that… It’s just… I have a feeling I will not have the same autonomy as I did before,” Caleb confessed, looking worried. He glanced over at her, a soft blush on his cheeks that he swiftly brought under control. “I rarely went anywhere alone. But now… I fear the Nein will hesitate to let me go to the _bathroom_ alone.”

“Oh, it won’t be that bad, Caleb,” Veth encouraged him. “I promise, I won’t let it get that bad.”

"She's right, Cayleb!” Jester reassured him, a merry look in her eyes. "We were all _really_ worried about you, and yeah! Maybe we will be a bit more… ya knowww… super duper worried about not knowing where you are. And _maaaaybe_ I'll send you messages more often just to check in! But we would never invade your privacy, Cayleb. We just want to make sure you stay safe!”

She plopped her head on his shoulder, peering up at him mischievously. "You would feel the same if it was one of _us,_ right?”

Caleb opened his mouth to deny it, but there was no bite behind it. It only took an instant for him to realize she was right… so he smiled halfheartedly, looking down at the bunny. His smile only lasted a moment, and then it vanished.

“There is something I need to tell you,” he murmured. “It is something I must tell you all.”

Veth sat up a little straighter. “Yes?”

Jester straightened, frowning. "What is it, Cayleb?"

“The country house we are going to... The address. It is Miss Becker’s childhood home.”

Jester scowled. “Why does that matter.”

Caleb glanced at her, unsure, but he pushed forward. “It is just… it is very likely that another family has moved in, considering it has been nearly twenty years since it was seized by the crown. It may be a dead end,” he told them quietly. “But if — against all odds — it is _not,_ what is the plan? Because we should have one.”

Jester growled softly, fingers tightening for a moment before she settled again. "I'm not sure I can think of a plan past walking in and knocking off her head with my spiritual weapon…” she muttered crossly. “But I know that's not exactly smart so… I'll follow whatever plan you make.”

Caleb chewed on the inside of his cheek, still giving the little bunny soft strokes. “And…”

He looked over at Veth. “Everyone feels this way about her?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Veth informed him, eyes dark as she folded her arms. “She killed you, Caleb. We’re not letting that go.”

Caleb sighed heavily, thinking it over for a few seconds. “...Okay then. I will go up to the door, just in case. You all will hang back, just out of sight, but not out of attacking range should things go south. I will attempt to… persuade her. To give my book back. And if that fails…”

The wizard sighed and shook his head, wiping the sweat off his face. “I am sure that I will do something very shitty in order to unsettle her.”

"Good, she deserves shitty…" Jester mumbled crossly.

"Jester--"

"Nope!" she interrupted, shaking her head wildly. "Not having that conversation again! I get it, _you_ think she deserves some of that _stupid revenge_ but from where I stand that woman killed someone I really care about. So fuck her. I deserve _my_ vengeance now! Hmph…"

A bittersweet smile stole its way across Caleb’s lips, fading to something quiet and soft. “If you love me, like you say you do, you will respect my wishes, Jester,” he murmured. “I would request gently that you do.”

Jester puffed up, eyes wide and indignant as she started to retort… then she looked at his face, and visibly wilted, eyes sad and distant. She lowered her gaze to the deck. 

That woman had made her see and go through horrible things that would likely leave her with nightmares for years to come. And she was just supposed to let it go…?

"... Okay..."

Caleb nodded softly, encouragingly. “It _will_ be okay,” he whispered to her. “It will. I believe in you, blueberry. Ich glaube an dich…”

The tiefling hesitated, looking up into his eyes… 

Finally, after a long moment, Jester pasted on her well-practiced smile, the one that no one but the Traveler ever knew was fake. She locked her rage and pain and fear deep down, as deep as she could bury it; she had done this for years. She could do it again. Except this time she didn't have Caleb to talk to about it...

"You two rest up!" Jester chirped, standing up with a bounce and flourish. "I'll take first watch up on the _bowww.”_

She gave Caleb a kiss on the cheek, short and sweet. Maybe a bit too short. She patted Veth's shoulder and then raced across the deck before anyone could stop her.

Caleb frowned, looking after her. That had been… too fast. Too sudden.

_I upset her._

His shoulders slumped slightly, spine bowed by the thought. The last thing he had wanted to do was upset her. He wanted— He wished others could be at peace with the situation. He wished the others would listen to him. For _once,_ take him at his word…

Caleb licked his chapped, salt-dried lips… and sighed, picking up the tattooing needle. “This shit isn’t going to do itself…” he mumbled, and unrolled the scroll for Counterspell.

If she still wanted to talk, he would gladly do it later. Right now… his focus had to be on this. She would understand.

Wouldn’t she?

Meanwhile, Jester jogged up to the front of the ship and huffed tearfully. She rested her elbows on the railing, looking out into the misty cavern. She wasn't sure _who_ she was mad at anymore. The woman? Caleb? _Herself…?_

She sniffled, face twisted as she tried to hold back the tears she felt building behind her eyes. Caleb didn't want her to be upset anymore. 

He wanted her to move on. She _wanted_ to do that for him, wanted to make him proud and happy.

So why was it so _hard…?_

“Is this spot taken?” a familiar voice asked.

Jester looked over, where -- out of nowhere -- none other than the billowing green cloak and wild red mane of Artagan had appeared on the deck of the ship. 

He offered her a little wary smile, viridian eyes bright, like he half expected her to curse him out again.

Jester stared at him for a long time, eyes wide… before her face crumpled completely as the tears she was holding back spilled forth. "A-Artie…!"

The fey blinked in surprise as she threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest and sobbed. He held her without hesitation, rubbing her back and whispering soothing words into her hair. They stood there in the quiet, hidden in the glowing mist as she silently wept into his chest.

She finally pulled back with a sniffle, wiping her eyes. "I… I missed you…"

Artagan smiled down at her. "But that's not what had you upset just now, is it?"

“No…”

Jester shook her head. "I… I'm just… I'm angry and sad and I don't want to be… because its making Cayleb upset and he's been through enough but--"

"But?"

Jester whined, scrubbing at her eyes. "How am I supposed to _forgive_ that woman? How am I supposed to _move on_ like he’s _asking me?_ I can't just… wave my hand and _wash away_ all the shit we went through because of her! All the things she put us through, put _me_ through?! I'm just supposed to _forgive_ her of all that shit? Of all the, the-- the trauma and the _nightmares_ and all that stuff…? How… how is that _fair,_ Artie?"

Artagan blinked. He looked to the side. “Well. It’s not… but.”

He offered her a mischievous little smile. “If I helps, I _did_ curse her for upsetting you.”

Jester’s brows shot up. “Curse? What kind of curse?" she asked in surprise.

“Oh, just something that makes her vomit frogs at inconvenient times, until she— Well, as long as _you_ want!” Artagan amended, smiling down at her wickedly. He nodded to himself. “Although! I’m sure you’ll get a chance to ask her yourself soon enough.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Artagan wrinkled his nose. “Welllll… I _may_ have told her that the curse would stick until she fixed things with you and made you not _mad_ at me anymooooore…?”

Jester blinked, eyes wide. "W-wait, she's going to be looking for me? To lift a curse? But-- Wait… this could be perfect!” she squealed, clapping and bouncing with excitement. “We might be able to meet her when and where _we_ want to, on _our_ terms! And I could totally tell her that you’ll make the curse worse if she doesn't give Caleb back his things!!”

“That’s-- Sure!” Artagan replied awkwardly, biting his tongue. It was difficult to rain on her parade. “Sure, you could, ah, tell her that.”

“A-And… and you could make her apologize,” Jester mumbled, squishing her cheeks. “Maybe Caleb wouldn't want that, but we deserve that much. More than that, really…”

She smiled at her best friend, cheeks red with tear stains. "Oh Artie… that was really wonderful of you!”

“I _know._ And you’re welcome!”

“I'm _still_ a little angry at you for how you acted though…"

Artagan perked up. “Sooo… you are not angry with me anymore?” He pouted at her overdramatically. “Because I _hate_ it when you’re angry with meeee.”

Jester pouted. "I'm not _angry,_ just… I really wish you cared more about my friends. I know you even like Cayleb. You told me so. And I… you had to have known how I felt about him. So when you wouldn't help me, I guess I thought…"

She sighed, looking away. "Had I done something wrong…? I just wanted to bring him back to me. I know you didn't want to be a god but…"

“No! No no no _no,_ my dear, _nothing_ like that!” Artagan insisted, leaning forward. “It’s just…”

He thought about it for a moment… then sighed and opened his hands. “Jester. Imagine that… you made friends with an ant. I know you might not appreciate my metaphor, but it’s the closest thing that I can describe.”

Jester looked up at him innocently. “Why? Ants are badass.”

“I-- Fair enough. Alright now, imagine that you made friends with an _ant._ And you grew to very much enjoy that ant! You even love that ant. But one day, a friend of that ant dies! But you need help from that wonderful little ant of yours. I am still… getting used to showing empathy, dear Jester. Whenever I said those things, I did not mean to upset you! I was just… not thinking. And…”

Artagan huffed, looking almost sheepish. “I am sorry…” he mumbled.

Jester smiled softly, darting forward to hug him tightly. "I think I understand. I forgive you, and I'm sorry if I had put you on the spot too soon…"

“It’s okay.”

She leaned her head back and smiled up at him, finally feeling a bit happier. More at peace. "Love you Artie," she told him. "Just wanted you to know that."

“Thank you, dear Jester…” Artagan kissed her on the top of her head. “Going forward, I will do my best to ask you how you’re feeling.”

"So um… how did you tell that woman to find me?"

Artagan shrugged at her.

Jester’s jaw dropped. “Artie!”

“What? She is a wizard! I assumed she would have some magical oogity-boogity way of talking to you,” Artagan insisted, wiggling his fingers in a mockery of magical gestures.

Jester winced. "What if she tries to scry on me? If she does that, she might be able to catch me off guard, Artie. I don't want her to hurt any more of my friends…"

Artagan wrinkled his nose. “I did not think of that. No one has scryed on you yet though! Except one person. Different wizard, though.”

“Someone scryed on me?! Who scryed on me?!”

“I don’t know, I just know it wasn’t her! I do keep _little_ tabs on the people that worship me, you know.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?!” Jester squeaked, throwing her arms up in the air.

“You were _mad_ at me!” Artagan protested, pouting at her again.

"I--! Okay, okay good point…" Jester frowned, huffing. "Okay… I'll tell the others about this. Hopefully she just tries sending me a message. But please please please tell me the moment she scrys on me, _okay?_ It's _really_ important, Artie!"

“Okay, okay! I can try to do that— although that might be complicated, considering that she doesn’t worship me anymore. I think I, uh, upset her too. Goodness gracious, mortals are so easily upset! Curse a lady and she drops the symbol of her loyalty to you in the mud...”

Artagan shrugged at Jester. “Perhaps I should just tell her to send you a message now?”

“Wait, what?”

“I will do that.” _Poof._

“Artie!!” Jester squeaked. Her hands flew to her mouth as she whirled around, searching for her friend; sure enough, she had been left alone on the deck.

...

Emmeline sighed in bliss, reclined in the bathtub. There was nothing quite like a shower and a bubble bath in the early afternoon…

She hiccuped, gagged, and spit out a frog. “Uck…”

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Emmeline yelped and ducked into the water. The newly born frog scrambled and leaped out of the bath with a spray, croaking frantically.

Artagan — with shiny black doll eyes — loomed over her, fog encroaching over the stone floor. _“Hello.”_

Emmeline stared up at him, her stomach doing backflips. She couldn’t figure out if she was supposed to be angry or _scared._ She was naked beneath the water. Vulnerable. Even if she could defend herself, her book was on the opposite end of the bathroom! Her heart was _pounding._

“...I’m not decent,” she whispered.

 _“You will send a message to Jester!”_ Artagan informed her, grinning unnaturally. _“Do I make myself clear?”_

Emmeline stared up at him, blinking in disbelief. “Wha—?”

And then he was gone.

...

About ten seconds later, Artagan reappeared on the deck of the Eden’s Horizon. “Alright! She will send you a message soon!” he told Jester, looking proud of himself. “How’s that for effectiveness?”

"That--!! Artie, I haven't had a chance to talk to the others yet and--"

Suddenly, there was a ping in the back of Jester’s skull, and a message came through.

...

Emmeline’s voice was husky with exhaustion. “What do you want...?” 

That was all she said. She just dropped her concentration on the message and put her spellbook back on the counter. With a sigh, she dipped her pruning fingers back in the water, trailing them through warm foam.

...

That anger Jester had just barely managed to bury resurfaced with a _vengeance._ She growled, closing her eyes to push the emotions down. It was okay. This was how she was going to get back at the woman. Make her _beg._

"If you don't want that curse to get worse, you will give me back my friend’s things you stole. _All_ of them."

Jester felt proud of herself for exactly half a second before she realized she had jumped the gun. Again! "Shit shit shit, I gotta tell Cayleb right now!” she yelped. She gave Artagan one more squeeze and dashed away. “Thank you Artie feel free to hang around I gotta go!!"

“O-Okay! Have fun!” Artagan called, staring after her in bewilderment. 

Even as she ran off back towards her friends, he smirked a little bit. He puffed up his chest proudly and vanished in a sparkle of bright fey green. Yeah. He was still her best friend.

...

_"If you don't want that curse to get worse, you will give me back my friend’s things you stole._ **_All_ ** _of them."_

Emmeline rolled her eyes silently and rested her face in her hand.

Of _fucking course._

She sighed deeply, summoning her strength… and finally got out of the bath. She wouldn’t dignify that kind of naivety with a response. How was she supposed to respond to that in twenty-five words or less? ‘No?’ She couldn’t return all of his things even if she _wanted_ to. She had spent money, used components, given the little cat figure to Ana, and she _needed_ the necklace now. The Traveler -- despite his vile appearance -- did not seem the type to kill a person with a curse. The worst he would likely do was make her ugly or hide her spellbook. She could deal with either one of those if need be; it certainly wasn’t worth giving up her best tools to satisfy a fussy tiefling’s wounded pride, even if she _was_ close with a mischievous archfey.

Bren Widogast was dead. She had more important things to tend to, like casting Disguise Self and finding Leon Sonnenblumel; she had papers to deliver, and a Locksmith mage to meet with.

...

Jester dashed across the deck, slowing down just outside the door so she could enter calmly. She let out a sigh of relief when she found that Caleb was just finishing up with one tattoo already, sitting breathlessly with his head bowed over the intricate black marks. "So um, I might have _good_ news?” she exclaimed, her voice pitched not unlike a mouse. “Or _bad_ news? I'm not sure?"

Caleb didn’t risk looking up, still sweating rapidly from the sting of a needle over his scars. “Which is it?” he asked.

Veth glanced at her, brow raised. "What is it?"

"Sooooo… _apparently,_ Artie wanted to apologise for how he treated earlier events and resurrecting you and stuff and part of that was to uh… _curse_ the lady that killed you. And he told her it wouldn't be removed until she did something that made me happy? And she messaged me! And I might have responded without thinking…"

The buzz of the needle stopped.

Caleb carefully drew it away from his skin and looked up at her, even paler than he was a moment ago. “What did you say?”

“W-Well, she asked me what I wanted! And I told her to give back all your things or the curse would get worse!” Jester blurted.

“And… has she responded to your demands? Did you tell her how she is supposed to give me back my things?”

She shook her head. "I'm waiting for her to reply. I wanted to talk to you to figure out what I should demand! Is there a specific place I should have her meet us? I didn't say anything about you being alive, she might think you're still dead! I just told her I wanted everything she stole!"

"Wait wait, the Traveler _cursed_ her?" Veth asked, grinning despite the situation. "Cursed her with what?"

"Oh uh, apparently she barfs up toads when she's talking, at like, the worst moments possible?" Jester hazarded a guess, wincing, but she brightened just as quickly. "Wait! The curse makes her choke on toads at the worst times for her! That means she won't have an easy time speaking! That should disrupt most if not all of her spells right?! It would mean she would have a hard time fighting us!"

Caleb held up a hand. “Hold on. Just—“

“Has she sent you anything yet?” Veth interrupted.

“No!” Jester yelled, throwing her hands up in frustration.

“Oh my god, did she just _leave you_ on _read?”_

"Maybe?" Jester huffed, sitting down with an angry sound. "Maybe she's figuring out something to say and maybe she’ll message me back? Or she's trying to figure out how to respond?"

Caleb let out a slow breath. That was lucky. Maybe they had a chance now. 

“Perhaps… she is giving you a chance to be a bit more… political?”

Jester wrinkled her nose. “Hah?”

“Polite, Jester. Perhaps she is giving you a chance to be a bit more polite. Perhaps clarifying your desires will give her a… better range of answers. You gave her a complex ultimatum and very few words to reply with, perhaps if you—?”

"I was trying to give her a chance to respond _herself,_ but fine."

Jester scowled and straightened up, preparing to send a message for the third time that day. "Where should I tell her to meet us? You need to give me something to work with, I was trying not to plan _without_ you since I _apparently_ say the wrong thing too often."

Caleb sighed softly, his shoulders relaxing. “Jester…”

He stood up, walking over to her and taking her hands. “I am _not_ saying that you’re saying the wrong thing. At its root, you are saying what we _mean,_ going _right_ to what we want to happen. But this is a delicate situation. We cannot smash it open with a hammer if we wish for it to go smoothly. And you, blueberry, are an excellent hammer.”

Jester frowned at him. “I’m a hammer?”

Caleb nodded simply. “Yes. Because you bang so good.”

Jester’s mouth twitched. She chewed on a crawling, contagious smirk… and finally burst into a fit of giggles. “Eyyyyy!”

“Eyyyy.”

Jester beamed at him. “Cayleeeeb!”

Caleb looked at her innocently, a tiny, bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What? It is true."

She shook her head, giggling brightly, her lingering annoyance vanishing almost immediately. "Okay okayyy, geez... just tell me what to say, silly.”

The crow’s feet at the corners of Caleb’s eyes crinkled, blue eyes sweet with humor as he gazed at his little blue tiefling. He quickly kissed her knuckles and gave her hand a firm pat, pulling himself back together and stuffing his adoration for Jester back into its little box. No squishy feelings allowed yet. They weren’t out of the woods. “Tell her that she can pick the time and the place. We will both bring backup. She will bring my book.”

He hesitated, watching her closely. “And... I will bring something _she_ wants.”

Jester frowned. "But… but don't we have the upper hand? She's cursed! Shouldn't the cure be the trade-off? And what could _you_ have that _she_ would want?" Her brows furrowed. "If you say _yourself,_ I'm _not_ gonna be happy."

Caleb chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“...I will bring her brother. Provided that you or Caduceus can help me with that.”

Jester’s eyes widened. "Wait… is that why…? Is that why you had us steal the diamond too?!"

"Yes."

“You thought about this all the way back yesterday?!”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god, you’re so _smart_ , Cayleb…” She frowned, thinking hard. "I _suppose_ that would be a hefty trade, one that she won't want to refuse. But…"

Jester glanced up at the ceiling. "Do you think Cad and I could do that, Artie?"

Artagan -- popping into existence -- looked surprised by the idea. “I mean… I suppose you will need a very large conduit to do it,” the archfey replied elegantly. “I would be far from surprised if Miss Melora could do it. Me, though? Never tried it before. Although… Human souls _are_ malleable. As long as the fellow is free and willing to come back. It would take a lot out of you, though, Jester.”

"I'd be willing to try," Jester reasoned, still frowning. "But you said the soul would need to be free and willing. I don't want to promise this lady something and not be able to pull through…"

She turned to Caleb. "Do you think the trade will still work if I promise to remove the curse and try to bring her brother back?"

Caleb frowned… but he nodded. “You’re right. It… It hadn’t occurred to me that he might not want to—“

He trailed off, the line between his brows carved deeper. “Yes. That is a better idea. A safer bet.”

"The offer alone should mean something," Jester pointed out. "Plus, I _did_ say the curse would get worse if she didn't work with us. So… let's see how this goes."

Jester took a deep breath and cast her spell. 

...

“Excuse me,” Emmeline murmured, giving herself a softer, creaky accent. “Where is, ah, Leon Sonnenblume?”

The peasant took one look at the old woman in front of him… and pointed out into the field. “Thank you, son…” she smiled, walking carefully and slowly in the direction he indicated. Emmeline’s form was bowed and Disguised into the appearance of a woman fifty years her senior, her face heavily lined and her body draped in multiple threadbare shawls as she hobbled across the field.

She was barely a quarter of the way across -- papers in hand -- when Jester’s voice interrupted her again.

_"Pick the time and place. Bring me his things and I'll remove the curse. I offer another thing, as a peace offering. Don't reply yet."_

Emmeline opened her mouth incredulously… then, she sighed and closed her mouth, glaring at the clear skies as she continued, searching the field for any sign of armor. She had to be close. The muddy road was framed by wooden fences, likely older and sturdier than she would ever be. Cool stalks of dead sunflowers were slowly rotting into the soil, enriching it for future harvests. She could only imagine how beautiful this warm soil would be in the summertime -- a sea of yellow blossoms as far as the eye could see. Perhaps an underground source of heat kept it warm enough to grow sunflowers. A hot spring or a magma flow…

Suddenly, Jester Lavorre’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

_"I will personally try to resurrect your brother.”_

Emmeline faltered, her brain tripping over the words… and she suddenly stopped. Unconsciously, she rested a hand on the fence to keep from losing her balance, staring hollowly at a point in the distance, her ears ringing in shock.

 _What_ had she just _said…?_

_“I can't promise it will work but I will try my best. You may reply now."_

Emmeline’s breath snagged in her chest. She had to lean on the fence, pulling in a shaky breath as she tried to process the concept. Was that possible? Was it _possible_ to get Elias back, after all this _time?_

Was Jester lying to her? 

Was it worth the risk to agree, even if she wasn’t? 

Elias had been dead for _seventeen_ years. He had been barely past thirty when he died. People had loved him. Respected him. And the Assembly had ripped him apart, _falsified_ his legacy.

To give Elias his life and his legacy back… How was it _not_ worth the risk? 

Emmeline licked her parched lips, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth.

...

Jester looked at the others hopefully. "How was that?"

Caleb nodded encouragingly, offering her a soft smile. “Good. That was very good.”

Jester smiled prettily and preened a little. “Thanks!”

Veth looked at their cleric worriedly. “You’ve been doing a lot of raising people from the dead lately. Are you sure you’ll be up for it?”

“Of course she will,” Caleb declared, quiet but brimming with pride. “She is Miss Jester Lavorre, high priestess of tricksters and dicks.”

Jester blushed and did a happy little wiggle, tucking her head almost shyly. "Cayleeeeb..."

Veth just groaned. "You two are going to just get increasingly gross over time, aren't you?"

"Oh shut up, we're allowed to," Jester replied, sticking her tongue out at her.

Caleb chuckled softly, distracted. “I, um… yes.”

He glanced at her curiously. “What does she say?”

It had been nearly thirty seconds since the message was sent off. Jester fell silent. Waiting, and listening…

Then, the reply came.

Emmeline’s voice was quiet and shaky.

_“Amber Crossroads. Angry Daisy. Three days time, just before the sun sets. Hurt me or any of my companions, you will not see next week.”_

Jester perked up, beaming. "Oh, this is awesome! She picked theeee… uhhh, Amber Crossroads, at a place called the Angry Daisy! She's giving us three days and, well duh, she's not coming alone but she stated that up front. And well, threatened us not to hurt her and then but seriously, that's a given. She doesn't attack us, we don't attack her, done deal!"

Jester bounced on her heels. "Okay soooo, we have three days to prep. I'll send Fjord a message so he knows the plan. Do we need to uh… get her brother's body during that time…?"

Caleb looked sick. “I suppose we do…”

He hesitated, then he took a bracing breath and picked the tattooing needle back up. “That might be a bit more complicated than we hope, though,” he mumbled, switching it back on.

“Why? What do you mean?” Veth asked, picking the Fireball scroll back up and unrolling it for him.

Caleb glanced between the two women, swallowing past the lump in his throat and looking back down at his ink-stained skin. He wiped off beads of blood, focusing once more on his work. “Because I’m not the one that buried the bodies.”

“Wait, then… who did?” Jester blurted.

Caleb switched the needle back on. “Eodwulf. We will have to ask him where he buried them… and then go dig up the right one.”

…

Emmeline resisted the urge to rub her illusory face. What had she just _fucking_ agreed to…?

 _“Okay... Three days,”_ she whispered to herself in Draconic, her mind sprinting a mile a minute as she rifled through her options. _“I have three days to figure this out. I can draw a teleportation circle. There’s no way they can surprise me or ambush me… so I bring companions. Who will come?”_ Koss would come for sure. But who else? Who else that would have her back? Maybe… Maybe this Leon person? A weak spellcaster was better than no spellcaster at all. Their party was down a wizard, so… who did they have left?

She tried to cast her mind back, remember who she had seen through this bizarre haze. Two muscular woman, one a monk of the Cobalt Soul… the other one likely a fighter or barbarian of some sort. The half orc? A fighter or a caster; he could have been any specialization! The firbolg was skinny and wore thicker armor, carried a staff and no spellbook that she could see. Cleric? Jester Lavorre was either a warlock or a cleric, one or the other. Still too many to deal with. Certainly more than she was comfortable with fighting if it came down to it. She either needed more people or a hell of a strategy…!

Suddenly, a voice called out. “Madam?”

Emmeline stiffened before she could stop herself. She tried to bring it back, tried to turn it into an old, creaky stretch as she hobbled around to look. “Yes…?”

Walking up the road was the peasant she had asked directions from. 

She waited for him to approach. But -- as he continued to walk in silence -- Emmeline got a proper look at him as he came closer. He was an older man, in his mid-fifties, his once-brown hair now shaved close to his head and streaked with silver. Blue eyes piercing and wary, framed with stress lines and mottled by old burn scars, with crow's feet tucked into their corners, etched there by a long life in the fields. He limped slightly, but his back was straight and his shoulders were broad, powerfully muscular from lifting bales of hay, pushing a plow, and a career in swordfighting long since passed. Emmeline glanced down warily at his callused hands, and noticed with a start that one of his hands was completely encompassed by scar tissue. Only three fingers were left where there had once been five.

_Who the hell…?_

There was an old, frayed notebook at his hip. And a pouch.

Wizard.

Emmeline’s eyes flicked to his face. “Can I help you?” she asked, keeping her voice old and harmless.

The man gave her a once over, peering at her warily. “You said you were looking for Leon Sonnenblume?”

A meow caught both their attention. Emmeline glanced down to see a skinny tortoiseshell cat -- with a soft black belly and splotches of warm brown across her face -- twine around the peasant’s boots; he grunted softly and leaned down, picking up the cat. “Shhh, Una...” he whispered, his gruff voice uncharacteristically soft as he gave her a petting. “I’m talking to someone.”

The cat rubbed against his beard and mewled affectionately.

Emmeline frowned. “Yes, I’m… I am. Are you--?”

The farmer scratched his cat, favoring his mutilated hand and the aching bones beneath. “Leon, yes. Lady Quana told me to expect you today. Miss… Emelia?”

“Emelia--” Maybe it would be best to not use her title. That was what she was known as. She hesitated, brows wrinkled, then she huffed and shook her head. “It’s complicated. Just call me Emmie.”

Leon scowled. “Are you giving me a false name?”

Emmeline eyed him incredulously. “Excuse me, but... _Mister Sunflower,_ are _you_ giving _me_ grief for using a _false name?”_

Leon eyed her right back. 

The skin around Emmeline’s eyes tightened. There was an eternal moment of silence, where the tension could be cut with a knife...

Then, finally, Leon sighed in resignation. The peasant wizard put his cat up onto his shoulders. “Drop that illusion,” he ordered, meeting Emmeline’s eyes unwaveringly. “False names are necessary in this kind of work, but I need to know your name and your appearance. It’s for security. So we can scry you if you go missing.”

 _Koss can't scry, and even if he could, I have a charm. Why's he lying?_ “In a net this small, shouldn’t the courtesy go both ways?” Emmeline replied instantly.

“I’m your superior.”

 _“I_ can cast more than a level one spell.”

Leon rolled his eyes. “Ow. Damn. You didn’t have to get into _that.”_

Emmeline bit back an amused smirk despite the lie, trying to keep her face straight. “So?”

Leon considered her for a moment, his aged, piercing blue eyes narrowed behind burn scars… and finally, he seemed to come to a conclusion. He nodded wordlessly. 

Emmeline dropped her spell.

She offered him a hand, knuckles forward, like a lady. “Emmeline Becker.”

Leon looked bluntly down at the elegant fingers presented to him… but he reached out and shook her hand. He gave his cat, Una, one last scratch and began to limp down the road. “Don’t call me by my name in public. Come along. We have a lot to talk about.”

Emmeline regarded him with a raised brow, then she picked up her skirts and walked along beside him, up the road, towards a small cottage. “And that name is...?”

“Leofric Ermendrud."

He opened the door for her. "Welcome to the rebellion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	14. Empty Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leofric Ermendrud makes his opinions known about Emmeline Becker, and at dawn - hours before - Eodwulf introduces Master Ikithon to his new houseguest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally have no idea what Matt is planning for Caleb’s arc. i’m writing this in December 2020, and i’m not gonna change anything if it turns out Caleb’s dad really ISN'T alive or if he has a different personality. (i mean, we all thought Cassandra DeRolo was dead!)
> 
> either way, this is MY canon divergence fic and i do what i wanttttttttttt. i promised you widogast angst and i’m GONNA DELIVER. eventually.
> 
> for now we’re gonna get to know this fellow ❤️

Emmeline stopped, brows shooting towards the ceiling. “Oh.”

Sitting in the only chair in the room, Koss — disguised as a long, lanky human man — was splayed out like a lazy cat. Yellow eyes had shifted to a more humanoid color, his silvery blue scales traded out for simple peasant’s garb; the only defining characteristic he seemed to like for his human disguises was a curly mustache, but Emmeline could always recognize his disguises by two things. The curly mustache, and the fact that the dragonborn couldn’t keep his tail still for more than a few seconds. The telltale scraping sound of scales on floorboards gave him away every time.

Koss raised a hand in exhaustion. “Hello, Emmie!” he declared, head bowed tiredly.

Emmeline raised a hand back, confused but not displeased. “Hello, Koss.”

“Koss? What’re you--?”

Leofric barged in past Emmeline, nearly bowling her over; she made a noise of complaint, pouting in his direction and straightening out her skirts as he stopped in front of Koss. “We’re not meeting up for another week-- What are you doing here? I thought you were scoping out the Secondary Penta with Jorah.”

“Secondary Penta?” Emmeline repeated, trying to step into the conversation.

Leofric waved her away. “Aaah, go away,” he snapped. “It is code.” 

“Code,” Koss repeated, smiling only a little apologetically.

Her brows raised at him. “Code.”

“Emmie will learn it later! Whole voca-- cab…?”

“Koss.” Leofric interrupted, gesturing at him to get back on task. Emmeline tried to reach out to give his cat a scratch. He smacked her hand lightly without even looking. “What happened with Jorah?”

Emmeline scowled at the indignity of being swatted like a stray fly and sighed at Una the cat. _Rude._

She listened with half an ear and edged past them, walking in to explore. Leofric Ermendrud’s house was small. A simple, one-room affair of cheap timber and thatch with a well outside, it was a home by the letter of the word, if not the spirit. A crude, hammered copper symbol of Pelor — god of the harvest — hung over the door, worn and polished to a shine by years of care. The furniture was modest, just enough to serve its purpose; a hearth, a simple straw mattress tucked into the corner, one table, one chair, a lockbox, and a modest bookshelf with precious few tomes. One of them looked like a slightly charred, dog-eared children’s book.

Emmeline clocked it all, leaning down to pluck the book off the shelf.

She turned it over to the cover and made a soft sound, smiling nostalgically. She ran her hand over the soot-stained, embossed letters. _Der Katzenprinz._

A mewl interrupted her thoughts. The enchantress peered down to see Una poke her head out from under her skirts. The skinny black-and-brown cat meowed at her. “Oh, hello,” she murmured back, pulling her skirts gently off the cat and leaning down to scoop her up. “Ah, I haven’t read this since I was a little girl… Would you like to read it with me?”

Una merped and just licked her chops.

“I will take that as a yes,” Emmeline hummed. She sat down and opened the book, crooning softly to the cat. “Once upon a time, in a little house on the edge of a _great_ wide wood…”

Meanwhile, Koss finished his stilted explanation, mostly in common. 

“Jorah got captured?!” Leofric hissed. “Koss! That only makes two of us now! And I only know a handful of spells, so _practically_ _one!”_

“Ah ah. Nuh uh.” Koss turned, presenting Emmeline with a proud, wide grin. “Three! Three now!”

 _“Three_ my left-- AH!” Leofric limped over, snatching the book out of the woman’s grasp. “Don’t fucking _touch_ that…!”

Emmeline balked as the tome was ripped from her fingers. She opened her mouth to snap back, but something in the way his expression changed made her pause. She watched as his blue eyes darkened. He closed the book and its half-broken binding -- so _careful_ with it, like it was even more fragile than it already was -- and put it back in its place. With Leofric’s burn scars and his chosen memorabilia of a charred children’s book… it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. 

He had lost a child. Maybe a wife, too.

Leofric snapped his fingers. Una vanished from under her arm. 

Emmeline startled. “Ah!”

Leofric huffed and snapped his fingers again, eyeing her sharply as the tortoiseshell cat popped back into existence on his shoulder. He rounded on Koss. “Really? Just because _you_ are soft on _her grace_ does _not_ mean she’s one of us.”

“Tea maybe? Before Leon starts dumping on Emmie again?” Koss sighed dryly.

“Again?!” Emmeline yelped. She pointed at Leofric in disbelief, raking her rogue blonde bangs out of her face. “How many times has he dumped on me?! I met him five minutes ago!”

“Koss maaaay have told him stories.”

“What kind of stories?!”

 _“Enough_ stories,” Leofric muttered dryly. He limped past Koss, leaning heavily on his cane to grab a kettle. “I’ve no milk or sugar.”

Emmeline frowned. She squinted at Leofric. “Excuse me?” she deadpanned in Common.

“I’ve no milk or _sugar,”_ Leofric repeated calmly, wincing as he picked it up, the three remaining fingers on his left hand scarred and aching in the chilly afternoon. “You’ll just be drinking boiled leaf water, but at least it’ll be hot, your grace.”

“No, the— why are you calling me that?!” Emmeline insisted, sitting up straight and giving him a look that could peel paint. “Your grace.’ It’s not even ‘your grace,’ it’s _my lady.”_

“Your grace, my lady— When he’s not talking about a mission, Koss rarely talks about anything but you.” He hung the kettle in the fireplace and reached into his belt, opening up his old, tattered, faintly smoke-stained spellbook to check his notes. Emmeline’s eyes flickered down to the front of the book, taking note of the faintly blackened pages but unable to discern anything else at a glance; she could barely retain that much, focusing on Leofric’s words. “That,” he was muttering, “and your reputation precedes you.”

“Precedes me— _what_ reputation?” Emmeline repeated, incredulous.

“You’re the witch baroness of the Bloody Estate.”

The enchantress dropped her face into her hand. “Oh, _Pelor alive…_ Really?! Who came up with _that?”_

“Couple of young people.”

Koss snapped his claws, eyes lighting up. It made an odd sound in contrast to the visual of soft human fingers. “Mary and Pickam!”

Leofric nodded. “That’s right, Mary and Pickam,” he mumbled. “Thankfully, I know you through Koss and not the tales told by teenagers— tripping rude people on country roads and shitting the bed when you were eight.”

Emmeline flushed bright red, gasping in mortification. “I had a bad piece of meat, you--!”

“Shitting the bed is shitting the bed. And eight is _really_ old to be shitting the bed.”

“Speaking of getting dumped on,” Koss cackled.

Emmeline threw up her hands -- crimson with embarrassment -- and got to her feet, marching out right past both older men. “I have _never_ been so _humiliated_ in my _whole life...!”_ she muttered, accentuating each word with a stomp. She stopped in the doorway and whirled, her blotchy red face furious as she pointed at them both. “And by a perfect stranger no less! I must confess, I was expecting _professionalism_ from you two! Forgive me for hoping that an organization with such _lofty_ goals might have some semblance of _manners!!_ I imagine that it might be _easier_ to work with the Cerberus Assembly!”

Leofric sighed and rolled his eyes. “Okay. Uncalled for.”

“Yes! _Called_ for!” Emmeline snapped, pinning them both with a glare. “I walk in here offering my services to you people, and the first thing you do is insult me because I am an outsider, and the _second_ thing you do is make a thirty-year old _joke_ about my bodily functions! The joke was tired when I was eighteen, and unwelcome even when _Elias_ was making it! You will treat me with the consideration and respect that a mage of my standing deserves, or I’m _leaving,_ Locksmiths be damned.”

Leofric stared at her for a few seconds, brows furrowed, looking frustrated and _mildly_ pleased.

He sighed and looked up at Koss. “Okay. I’ll take her.”

“I’m not some _cow_ to be handed over--!”

“Hey. Hey. Emmie.” Koss walked over to her, smiling blindingly and squeezing her shoulders. She let him, glaring flatly up at the disguised dragonborn as he jiggled her a little. “You’re in.”

“You didn’t _apologize!”_ Emmeline spat. “Piss off, ‘you’re in!’”

“Koss is sorryyyyy, Koss is sorry!” the dragonborn grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders. Emmeline huffed and rolled her eyes as he dragged her back towards Leofric. “Had to show Leo that Emmie has fire in her! Emmie gets very upset at shit-the-bed joke.”

“Because you’ve done it to death, the experience was terrible, and it’s not _funny!”_

“Is kinda funny!”

“Is _not_ ‘kinda funny,’” Emmeline grumbled in a mockery of his Draconian accent, but she sighed and finally stopped in front of Leofric. She pointed at Koss crossly. “This scaled creature has been a plague on my personal life since I was a _teenager,_ I’ll tell you. He knows _far_ too much about me and is _far_ too eager to share it over a drink. For the record, I apologize for the stories you’ve had to endure.”

Leofric looked like he was trying to suppress a smirk. “How long have you known each other again?”

“Since I was seventeen. Twenty-one years.”

“Well, I guess I don’t have to make you suffer the indignity of asking a lady her age,” the older man observed. He raised a brow up at Koss. “So, how does he know a story from when you were _eight?”_

Emmeline sighed, rubbing at her temple to stave off a headache. “He was friends with my late brother Elias, who _also_ knew far too much about me and was eager to share it over a drink.”

“Koss feels like he is being ganged up on.”

“You _deserve_ it!” she grumbled at the dragonborn. Koss cackled and ruffled her hair; Emmeline flushed faintly and swatted at him, patting her locks back into place. “I would appreciate an _apology,_ you ungrateful lizard…”

Leofric considered her, eyed Koss, and finally he sighed. “Alright. I’m sorry.”

“Traitor!” Koss accused. He dodged another swat from Emmeline, chuckling.

Meanwhile, Leo rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, wincing at the stiff muscles. “Perhaps I have been desensitized to his humor. I haven’t shared the company of a titled female in… ever, actually. It’s been a very long time since I have _thought_ to mind my manners,” he admitted, eyes darkened. “Forgive me, it’s been… it’s been a hard year.”

Emmeline glanced at Koss. The big dragonborn’s smile -- even through his human disguise -- faded slightly.

She placed her hands on the table, her eyes severe. “What’s been happening?” she asked sternly. “What am I walking into?”

Leofric glanced around, peering into the corners of the room, then back at Koss. “Not here,” he told them both. 

He picked up his cane, giving Una a gentle scratch around her ears. “First, we need to put you through initiation. Koss, if you would?”

The dragonborn nodded and beckoned them along. Emmeline eyed the two men, but she collected her skirts and followed, suddenly wary of her surroundings as they began to leave the hut…

Then, suddenly, Leofric swore. “Wait! Wait wait--”

He darted back into the house. Emmeline and Koss stopped, staring after him; the old silver-haired soldier bowed under the hearth and pulled the half-finished tea out from its embers. Emmeline’s brows shot up. “Oh! Yes. Gods…” she coughed, hiding her face. “Don’t, ah, don’t burn your house down.”

Leofric was silent, but his face went pale. 

He scooped up dirt, carefully smothering the flames. “Yes...” he murmured. “That would be… bad. Ahem.”

Koss bumped Emmeline. She jostled and squinted up at him, shrugging incredulously at him. _What?_

He jerked his head at Leofric pointedly. _He’s sensitive._

Emmeline gave him a flat, exasperated look and gestured at the left side of her body, exaggerating. _I_ **_know._ ** _He has_ **_massive_ ** _burn scars. I was_ **_trying_ ** _to be funny._

Koss made a face. _Yikes._

She punched his arm. _Shut up about my humor._

Koss rubbed his arm, but he smirked, conceding to their silent conversation-- just as Emmeline gagged. He startled, staring at her. “Uh. Emmie?”

Emmeline coughed and bowed in half. _“Fuck--_ gods, one second…!” she choked, hands on her knees.

Leofric limped back over to them, his brows lowered severely over intense eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Koss doesn’t _know._ Emmie, are--? Are okay, yes?”

Emmeline vomited another frog into her hands, strings of bile draping and dripping around the squirming amphibian. She sniffed, coughed, rubbed away tears of physical stress, and chucked the little green monster into the field...

Only to see Koss and Leofric both staring at her, eyes round as tea saucers.

“Uhhh…” Leofric deadpanned. “That is not normal, I assume.”

“No.” Emmeline spat into the dirt, grimaced, and continued walking. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Let’s go.”

The two other mages blinked at her, stared at each other, and focused on her again. “Okay,” Koss shrugged.

Leofric sputtered, throwing a hand up. “Wait, what?!”

“What?”

“This woman burps up an animal and you just said ‘okay?!’ What was that?!”

“It’s-- It’s complicated,” Emmeline mumbled, blushing bright red in embarrassment. 

“You just--!”

She covered her face. “It’s a-- it’s just a little thing! Don’t _worry_ about it!”

“Don’t _worry_ about it? You just spat out a f-- You can’t just do _that_ and say you’re fine!!” he insisted, taking a step back. “That’s the kind of nonsense you read about in _storybooks!_ Isn’t-- You should-- Koss! Can you _fix_ that?!”

“It’s a _curse._ Koss is a _sorcerer._ He’s not going to be able to _help!”_

“Why not?” Koss asked curiously.

“Why the _hell not?!”_ Leofric yelped, baffled.

Emmeline threw her hands up in exasperation. “Because the magic to remove curses can only be learned by clerics, paladins, warlocks, and wiz--”

She froze, staring straight ahead.

Leofric sputtered and took another step back. “Oh, Pelor. What’s happening now?” Koss shrugged, just as confused as the lesser mage.

Emmeline’s hand slowly rose to the sides of her head, her brain spinning in disbelief. “I _better_ not have it _,”_ she hissed. Immediately, she grabbed her spellbook and flipped through it, into her third level spells… and sure enough, there it was, plain as day. “Remove Curse. Third level abjuration. I will _never_ hear the end of this.”

“You have a _third level_ spell?” Leofric demanded, bewildered.

“I have an _eighth_ level spell.”

“Koss thought Emmie was joking.”

“Emmie was not joking,” she muttered back at Koss, checking if she needed any components. Fortunately, no. “Now be _quiet_ for a few seconds so that I can _fix_ this problem.”

“Emmie _forgot_ she had Remove Curse?” Koss cackled.

“Look, I—!” Emmeline put a hand on her forehead. “In my defense! The last time I used Remove Curse was, like, six years ago, and I used it to unattune a necklace from a traveler who hadn’t been able to sleep in a week! Forgive me for not _thinking_ about it when I started barfing up amphibians!”

“Why barf amphibian?” Koss asked, a scaled brow raised. “Why cursed?”

“Because the Traveler is a terrible god!” Emmeline snapped.

Leofric frowned. “The— the traveler that you helped six years ago?”

 _“No,_ a _different_ traveler!”

“A traveler cursed you to barf up frogs?! That is terrifying!”

“Not _a_ traveler, _the_ Traveler!”

“There is not a singular traveler in the world that can curse a woman to vomit frogs!”

“The Traveler is not _actually_ a traveler! The Traveler is a minor god of mischief and pranks,” Emmeline snapped, starting to cast her spell. 

“A _god cursed you?!”_

“Hush. Give me six damn seconds.”

Leofric took another step back, a bewildered, nearly frightened look in his eyes as Emmeline whispered an intricate, tangled host of arcane words under her breath. One, two, _three_ spell circles -- runes glowing a soft, curative gold -- burned into existence around her torso, the scent of pine and new grass lingering in his nose. She traced her fingers through the air, whispering the final phrase… and touched her chest. In a rush of power, all three spinning circles zipped into her chest, blowing her short blonde hair back…

Leofric hesitated, watching warily as she opened her eyes. “Did it work?”

Emmeline waited.

Koss waited.

Leofric glared between the two of them. “Why are you being quiet?! Neither of you would shut up a minute ago!”

“I think it worked,” Emmeline stated, looking up at the dragonborn.

Koss gave her a tiny round of applause. “Yay!”

 _“‘Yay?’_ Ya--” Leofric threw a hand up in exasperation and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why I try,” he sighed. He put his cane to the dirt, limping quickly into the fields. “Let’s go.”

Emmeline peered after him curiously. “Where--”

She looked up at Koss. “Where is he going? Is he aware that he’s walking into a dead sunflower field?”

Koss chuckled and just gave her a gentle push after him. “Cannot _believe_ Emmie forgot she had Remove Curse.”

“Oh, Lawbearer’s _tit,_ would you _stop?!_ I was _distracted!!”_

The dragonborn’s cackling laughter echoed down the road. The three Locksmith mages entered the tall, dry stalks, picking up their heels and bickering quietly amongst themselves… making their way slowly to a hidden teleportation circle deep in the field. Emmeline would barely notice the subtle turns they made at subtle landmarks; a fallen scarecrow, a black stone, a collection of weeds, an overgrown raspberry patch. Then, suddenly, Leofric disappeared ahead of her, she stepped into the same circle, and Emmeline’s stomach dropped.

“AH!”

And then she was gone, with barely a rustle of the leaves around them. Koss stepped into the permanent sending circle of his own making, not even missing a step.

The dead flower field -- empty but for a few hungry rabbits -- rustled softly under a suddenly cloudy sky… and raindrops began to fall.

**…**

Hours before -- across the countryside, over the buildings of Rexxentrum -- dawn had crawled over the city. 

Red sunlight glowed over the street outside Astrid’s home, burning away the fog from the night before. Eodwulf gazed over the street, a silent sentry; he did not bother to hide from anyone who should look in from the street. His muscles were stiff from sitting in a chair for hours, but he was used to staying in one position for a long time. He pitied the first person to enter this house unpermitted.

Astrid softly hissed in pain, lying in her bed.

Eodwulf immediately stood, walking over to the nightstand. His handler was pale, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead as he picked up a towel, dipped it in its bowl of steaming water, and wrung it out. He pressed it against her clammy skin.

Astrid’s eyes snapped open, dazed, but instantly finding him. A cantrip boiled at her fingers instinctively, just for a moment before she recognized him.

She grimaced at Eodwulf -- and his bruised cheekbones -- and turned her face away from him. She waved him off and tried to sit up, only to let out a gasp of agony and fall back into bed.

“Rest,” Eodwulf murmured, but he put the towel back. “You have broken ribs.”

“Yes, and whose fault is that?” Astrid snapped.

Eodwulf flinched almost imperceptibly. Her eyes were away from him. She didn’t notice. 

He remained still for a time… then finally turned and returned to his chair. She didn’t want his care. She didn’t need it. Never needed anything from him. He wasn’t sure why he had tried. 

Finally, Astrid grit her teeth and forced herself to sit up, slowly and carefully. She swallowed, the blood draining from her face as she managed to rest her back against the headboard; she didn’t ask for help, so Eodwulf remained where he was. Keeping his distance, across the room. She did not ask why he had entered her bedroom last night. She knew why he had cast Silence; so that she couldn’t use verbal components. She knew why he had tied one of her arms behind her back; so that she couldn’t use somatic components. She was in her nightgown, so she had no material components. On Trent’s orders -- there was no doubt -- he had beat her until four of her bones broke. By the time Silence faded, ten minutes later, she had been unconscious.

Eodwulf had picked her up carefully, tucked her into bed, washed his hands, and scrubbed her floor until there were no more bloodstains. Afterwards, he had taken a quick detour to Kamordah and tucked young Thoreau Lionette into her guest bedroom, down the hall.

Then, he had returned to Astrid’s room, sat in a chair, and stared out the window until the sun rose.

Eodwulf stood up finally, his muscular legs taking the weight of their owner once more. Astrid was awake now, and she could call her servant to get her any care she needed. It was time for him to go. He felt her eyes track him as he crossed the room -- angry, wary, humiliated… instinctually fearful -- so he didn’t look back.

“I didn’t say you could leave.”

Eodwulf stopped. He took a breath, tucked his hands behind his back, and turned to face his handler.

Astrid stared at him, eyes narrowed. “Don’t _ever_ do that again, _Gruppenleiter.”_

They were empty words. Both of them knew as much, but still Eodwulf nodded. This was far from the first time that Eodwulf had been ordered -- or forced -- to hurt someone that had earned a punishment, but he hadn’t had to hurt Astrid in over a decade. It was embarrassing. A blow to her dignity and pride just as thoroughly as her body. No doubt that it was what Trent had intended.

She waved him off sharply, her face the color of ivory as she reached for the hot towel on her nightstand. “You may go.”

Eodwulf turned sharply, back straight, and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

The volstrucker captain walked down the barren hall, boots moving soundlessly across the carpet. His mind was cold and empty, dark and dissociative, but he tried to bring himself out of it as he walked towards an innocent wooden door at the end of the hall. _It happened. Get over it. You’ve been through worse, done worse to better people. It will make her strong._

Eodwulf opened the door to the guest room and closed it behind him.

Thoreau Junior -- or _T.J.,_ as Eodwulf had spotted on the childish drawings on his tiny desk back in Kamordah -- was curled up in bed, tangled up in warm white sheets. His dark brown curls were a mess, falling over his forehead. He was sucking on his thumb, his ratty, well-loved stuffed bunny having fallen on the floor in his sleep; Eodwulf picked up the stuffed animal, tucked it back into Thoreau’s little hands, and picked up the child. He pulled his warm coat around them both, so that the crisp dawn cold wouldn’t wake him, and buttoned it back up. 

Holding the two-year-old in his coat just as gently as he had the night before, Eodwulf walked slowly down the stairs and out into the fiery, frigid Rexxentrum morning. Frost glittered like diamonds as he walked up the hill to Ambition’s Call, where Trent Ikithon’s tower stood tall among the Candles.

He bit into his thumb, enough to draw blood, and pressed it to the round, freezing iron disc on the side of the gate. It was so cold that his thumb was stuck there for a moment, his blood flash-freezing against the metal. Eodwulf pried his thumb off, feeling his skin tug as it went.

Thoreau shivered and mumbled something under his breath, clinging tighter to Eodwulf.

The volstrucker stroked his back gently, shushing him as the gates to Ambition’s Call swung open.

The familiar walk through frozen oak trees, Trent’s tower looming farther and farther overhead. The deathly cold shadow fell over them, the scarce warmth of the emerging sun fleeing as if chased. Dead leaves littered the frosted grass, crunching underfoot. The doors opened by themselves, and Eodwulf entered with his precious cargo.

He walked in, past Trent’s oil portrait, past the massive crimson mural of the Marrow War in his curved, golden frame, finally relaxing just a little. The inside of Ambition’s Call was -- thankfully -- heated, by coils of hot water pipes embedded within the walls.

Eodwulf unbuttoned his coat. Now the hard part.

Thoreau wrinkled his nose unhappily, jostled and set down on his feet. He nearly dropped his bunny as he yawned, eyes bleary. “Mm…? What’s going on…?” he mumbled, not even conscious enough to look at his surroundings. It took him nearly ten seconds to take a second look at Eodwulf. “Who’re you…?”

“My name is Rowan,” Eodwulf murmured softly. He hesitated, but he knelt, straightening Thoreau’s soft silk pajamas. “Your parents sent me for you. Do you remember your mama telling you that you were going to stay with us for a while?”

“No…” Thoreau mumbled, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. “Are we friends…?”

“Yes. Yes, we are friends…”

The little boy looked up at him, drowsy and concerned. “Wha’ happen’ to your face? S’all bruised...”

Eodwulf’s heart twinged at the innocent worry in that little boy’s face. “I fell down,” he murmured. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Oh…” Thoreau yawned.

Eodwulf gave him a tiny, halfhearted smile, pain glittering in his eyes. “Your parents are going on a vacation to the Menagerie Coast, just the two of them,” he told the little boy. “While they’re gone, they’ve arranged for you to stay with us. There will be toys, and drawing paper and colored pencils. Anything you want to keep you entertained, as long as you behave.”

Thoreau perked up. “Drawing paper? Toys?”

“Yes… Many toys.”

“I wanna see the _toys.”_

“In a minute,” Eodwulf promised quietly. “First, I must introduce you to someone very important. He is very rich and very powerful, so be sure to be on your best behavior. Can you do that?” Thoreau was nodding exaggeratedly even before he was finished speaking, in the way that toddlers did. Still sleepy, but excited at the prospect of toys.

As if on cue, the floor began to rise.

Eodwulf straightened, his jaw raised and his expression composed. Thoreau stared around them, agape, mouth open wide enough to catch flies as floor after floor whizzed past them. “Wowwww…!”

All at once, the floor came to a stop on the top floor. 

Thoreau squeaked, the force lifting his tiny body up his feet for just a second; Eodwulf glanced down, hiding a tiny smile in the corners of his mouth as the toddler dissolved into giggles. “That was fun!” Thoreau whispered up at him.

“Best behavior, little one,” Eodwulf reminded him, his voice deep and hushed.

“Best behavior,” Thoreau echoed, lowering his voice childishly; subconsciously trying to match the man’s dark bass.

Eodwulf hid a flicker of a smile.

He knocked on Master Ikithon’s door… and it opened.

The office of the Archmage of Civic Influence was a vast, impressive space, even for those who had seen the inside of Castle Ungebroch. Taking up the entire top eighth of the tower, it was constructed all of skillfully worked, rippling, dark Zemnian wood, bookshelves stretching up nearly one hundred feet all the way to a pyramid roof of stained glass. The early morning light flooded in through jewel toned glass, wrought with iron and enchanted against bad weather. It depicted the crowned visage of eight cloaked mages, warring over a scarlet, broken cityscape; the Eve of Crimson Midnight, nearly two hundred years before, the horrific historical event that gave shape to the founding of the Cerberus Assembly… all lit in glass, sunlight, and sparse, fluttering snowflakes. Enchanted orbs of light illuminated the space. A trio of massive desks took up the center of the room, each stacked with books and important-looking papers, framing a massive iron brazier that burned with warming magical flame. All of it overlooked a single, arched pane window with diamond gridding, large enough for eight men to stand abreast and look out at once. It faced northward… with the best skybound view of Castle Ungebroch that existed in Rexxentrum. 

Trent stood before the window, gazing out over the city, wrapped in white and gold brocade with a porcelain cup of something steaming in his liver-spotted hands. Like a king, admiring a land he may one day conquer.

Eodwulf stepped inside. He had to gently tug Thoreau inside. The moment that the little boy set eyes on the archmage, he had shrunk in on himself, looking visibly uneasy, but he didn’t say anything.

Trent turned to look at the pair. A subtle, _interested_ smile curled across his lips. “Ah. Young Thoreau Lionette…” he murmured. “I’ve been expecting you.”

He beckoned the child forward.

Thoreau hid behind Eowulf’s leg, staring at the archmage suspiciously. Trent chuckled. “Ah… children. So shy sometimes…”

“I am sorry, Master. He--”

Trent held up a hand; Eodwulf stopped speaking immediately, eyes fixed on the floor. “No matter,” the archmage murmured, smiling. “He will have time to adjust.”

He held his hand before him, sweeping long, rheumatic fingers in a single, _lazy_ spell circle, whispered a single arcane word, and -- with the ease of one of the first enchantments he had ever learned -- cast Charm Person. Eodwulf closed his eyes. Maybe it was just the psychological effect, but he felt the ripple of simple magic brush past him like a cold wind… and settle on the little boy hiding behind his leg. Thoreau’s grip on his pants eased. His pupils dilated slightly as the magic took hold of his young brain. It was pitifully easy to do.

Trent beckoned him again, smirking. 

This time, Thoreau let go of Eodwulf and waddled across the room, stopping in front of the archmage and looking up at him with big blue eyes. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Trent purred, reaching into his sleeve. He pulled out something small -- a wooden box -- and opened it, offering its contents to the child. Eodwulf could see a pile of tiny peppermint candies inside, gleaming appetizingly in the light. “Here. Have one.”

Thoreau perked up. “Ooh…”

He picked over the candies for a moment, then grabbed the biggest one and tossed it in his mouth, sucking on it for a moment… then, a hazy veil settled over his eyes. His eyelids drooped. He yawned widely, the candy dissolving at the back of his throat. “M’sleepy…”

“You _must_ be. It’s _so_ early in the morning,” Trent whispered to him, his voice like a silver snake. “A young man needs his rest…”

He beckoned Eodwulf forward.

Eodwulf obeyed, catching the little boy as he sagged. By the time he had picked him up and secured his hold on the young Lionette heir, Thoreau was deep asleep. He suppressed a sigh of relief, keeping his face straight as he faced forward, gazing out over the city.

Trent closed the box of candies and offered it to Eodwulf. “He will be sound asleep for twenty-four hours. Nothing short of shaking him should wake him. No more than one a day. I have my own duties to tend to, so it will be your responsibility to make sure he is fed, washed, and rested.”

Eodwulf felt sick to his stomach, but he took the box and tucked it into his coat. “Where will he be staying?”

“Why, here, in the tower. In the same room as always.”

Eodwulf’s jaw locked, but he kept his expression blank. “...Yes, Herr Ikithon.”

He turned to leave.

“I didn’t say you could leave.”

Eodwulf stopped. He took a breath and turned to face his master, Thoreau’s barely noticeable weight on his shoulder, trying not to hear an echo of Astrid’s words as Trent looked him over. His bruised, cut cheeks ached in the air of Ikithon’s office.

Trent touched his cheek. His thumb traced over the discolored skin. Eodwulf swallowed, trying not to stiffen, and dared to glance up at the man who had trained him, blue eyes locking on brown.

Trent sighed deeply, a trace of disappointment flickering in his face. His hand fell from the volstrucker’s cheek, from the bruises that he had inflicted. “I am sorry, _mein Kind,”_ he murmured. “I lost my temper with you last night. I wish I had done something different.”

Eodwulf turned his eyes down, avoiding Ikithon’s gaze.

Empty words.

“I am sorry too,” he murmured. “I did not perform my duties as well as I should have. It will not happen again.”

He could feel Thoreau mumble softly against his shoulder.

Trent nodded softly, satisfied. “Good.”

With a smile, he pulled a pouch of coins from his robe and placed it on Eodwulf’s palm. “Go see a healer. Have your face fixed. You look terrible.”

Eodwulf closed his fingers over the money and tucked it away. “Thank you.”

“Of course. You followed orders. You deserve a reward,” Trent murmured softly, his voice almost paternal as he brushed his fingers over the scourger’s black, close-cropped hair. Eodwulf couldn’t help but let his eyes close, relief washing over him at the _barest_ gentle touch, no matter who it came from. He _had_ fucked up. But it was okay now, right? It was okay…

Astrid didn’t hit him when he fucked up. But she didn’t touch him gently when he did something well, either. She was just… cold.

At least Trent talked to him. Let him feel something.

His master stroked his thumb gently over Eodwulf’s hair for a moment longer, relishing in the way he savored the touch. “You’ve always been so sensitive,” he whispered. “I know this is hard on you. These things you do… it’s difficult, isn’t it?”

Eodwulf hesitated, then swallowed thickly and shook his head. He wouldn’t show weakness.

“So brave...” Trent whispered, holding his face tenderly between his palms. “I _know_ it is difficult for you… but you are doing it for such _good_ reasons. For Empire.”

“For Empire.”

“You are the _strongest weapon_ that I possess. I _value_ you. You do what I say, without question, even when it is difficult. You have come so far from the frightened young man I met all those years ago. I chose you because I saw greatness in you. Your potential may be limited. You may not be as smart as your superiors. You may be naive about the world around you at times. But you do the terrible things that no one else can do, and for that I am _proud_ of you.”

A swell of bittersweet pride bloomed in Eodwulf’s chest. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “Thank you, Master Ikithon…”

“Are you ready for your next assignment?” 

Eodwulf nodded quietly. “Yes, Master Ikithon.”

“Good.”

Trent lowered his hands and picked his cup of tea back up, returning his hungry gaze to the distant Castle Ungebroch. “‘Caleb Widogast’ is alive, but he is out of commission. Another scrying spell may prove otherwise, but that is a task for your handler. _You,_ meanwhile — once you are rested and healed — will join the four members of his party that are here in Rexxentrum, as a representative of the Assembly. Accompany them on their search for this ‘Emmeline Becker’ and don’t let them out of your sight.”

“Yes, Master Ikithon. I won’t let you down.”

Trent did not take his eyes off the exquisite morning view. “I know you won’t. You are dismissed.”

Eodwulf bowed silently -- respectfully -- and walked out the door, the sleeping toddler still cradled in his arms.


	15. Fort Zandrazi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Emmeline goes through her initiation ceremony for the Locksmiths, Fjord, Yasha, Beau, and Caduceus have an unexpected conversation with Eodwulf.

_"Fjoooooooooooooooooooooooooooord!!”_

Fjord jumped awake, dazed and startled as Jester’s voice came kicking in the front door of his brain. He sat up like a shot, his hair tousled every which way, blinking widely and slowly. _“Fjord, I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything earlier, Cayleb is awake!”_

Fjord’s stomach flipped. _What?_

_“We got jewels and tattoos and we’re coming in a couple hours!!”_

_What?!_ Fjord flipped over, staring at the window. 

Bright sunlight was streaming in, the cold morning mist long burnt off. _Fuck! Overslept!_ “Uh— A couple hours?!” he sputtered, grabbing his boots and shoving his feet into them. “I— I— yeah. Yeah. Just— okay. I thought you weren’t going to wake him up for— it’s okay.” Shit. _Shit._ “Caramouth Cottage. Rexxentrum.”

He walked past a mirror and faltered at the sight of green skin.

Fjord paused, took a shaky breath, and cast Disguise Self, glancing in the mirror again. A handsome human man with ash blonde hair, brown eyes, and a rich Port Damali tan peered back, wearing his armor and looking _nervous._

He was going out and about in the city, right? The locals were mostly human! Humans were more likely to talk openly to a fellow human, right? Not some big half orc. “Calm,” Fjord muttered to himself, hurrying down the stairs of their inn. _“Chill._ _Hello,_ fellow humans…”

His boots hit the bottom of the stairs.

Beau, Caduceus, and Yasha were already awake, whispering amongst themselves at a round table. The interior of the foyer was constructed of soft, yellow-tinted oak, with tiny curios cabinets and tea tables, dwarven-made stacks of delicate confections for the afternoon guests. From the dark circles under his friends’ eyes, they had been up for some time.

Fjord sighed noisily and sat down at the table, drumming his fingers against the wood. “Hey. Should we get going?”

Beau blinked slowly at him, squinting at the human that had come to sit at their table. “The fuck?”

Caduceus cocked his head curiously. “Fjord? Is that you?”

“Yeah! Yes, I just… you know,” Fjord shrugged, gesturing widely. “We’re in a mostly human city. We’re gonna be asking around for information. Humans might be more eager to talk to other humans!”

“But… we’ve come through here before…” Yasha mumbled, puzzled and tired.

“Yes, but we’ve never spent real time in the city associating with the ground-level citizens, have we?” Fjord muttered, becoming rapidly self-conscious about his decision to disguise himself. He huffed and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “Look, we _may_ have a problem. Caleb’s up.”

“Caleb’s… up? Like, awake?!” Beau exclaimed, instantly awake, perching up in her chair. “That’s great!”

“Yeah, but-- but we haven’t found his _book_ yet.”

“Who fuckin’ cares?! If he’s here, then we can-- wait.” Beau wrinkled her nose. “Ehhh, you’re right. He still can’t do anything without his spellbook... We _should_ still keep looking.”

She scowled over at Caduceus. “I miss him,” she deadpanned. “I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, me too...” Yasha mumbled, looking deeply unhappy. She hesitated… then looked wordlessly over at Beau.

Her monk couldn’t help but notice, the necromantic scar -- left there by Eodwulf’s blade -- aching across her abdomen. Beau mumbled something reassuring under her breath and stepped off of her chair. She dropped down into Yasha’s lap, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Fjord took a breath and looked at the rest of them, silently relieved that he didn’t have to explain himself. If Caleb got back and he didn’t have his book… it would be an _embarrassment._ He could already feel his gut twisting at the prospect of their wizard returning to empty hands. He had _taken this task,_ goddammit. And they didn’t have much time left!

He didn’t want to disappoint Caleb. Not after all that their wizard had been through.

“Okay!” Fjord clapped, trying to jazz his small crew up. “Wake up! Let’s get going!”

“Actually, we’re not-- quite ready to go yet,” Caduceus murmured into his tea. “We’ve been trying to figure out what’s the best course of action.”

“The best course of action for what? Going to the Mudtop Ward? Because that’s where we’re _going.”_

“Well, no. We were… _discussing…”_ Caduceus glanced at the two women. “What to do about Trent Ikithon’s offer to help.”

Fjord’s heart sunk into his gut. “Oh.”

Beau made a disgusted noise. _“Ugh._ Look, I--” She leaned forward, eyeballing the others pointedly. “We can all agree that he knows _something_ about Becker, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

“A hundred percent.”

“So there’s something he’s not telling us _already,_ right?” Beau demanded. “So we don’t owe him shit! I’m voting no.”

Yasha tightened her arms protectively around Beauregard’s waist, her eyes darkened. “I’m voting _fuck no.”_

“And I think we should accept it,” Caduceus murmured.

Fjord stared at him in disbelief. “What?! Caduceus, _you_ of all people? We couldn’t trust that guy as far as we could throw him!”

“Just… hear me out.”

The firbolg looked between all of them, waiting for silence. Fjord shifted impatiently, eyes flickering towards the door, but he huffed and sat back in his chair. Beau crossed her arms and scowled, putting her butt in Yasha’s lap. Their barbarian hesitated, her expression thunderous -- both literally and metaphorically -- but she didn’t protest, so Caduceus continued. “Last night’s fight was a disaster,” he pointed out, quiet but firm. “We cannot take on the Empire’s elite, certainly not yet.”

“It was a fucking _ambush!”_ Beauregard barked. “It doesn’t _count!”_

Heads turned, brows furrowed in disapproval from the other patrons. Beau noticed, grumbled, and fell silent again, giving Caduceus a dark look. “I’m just saying. If it had been _us,_ getting the drop on _them?_ Different story.”

“Nobody is denying that. But we’re not talking about attacking them,” their cleric told her softly. “We’re talking about traversing _their_ territory. When a hunter walks through a treacherous wood to find a specific monster, you do not call out to insult the trees themselves. I am _not_ saying we should trust Mister Ikithon. I am saying that we may have more to gain by trading knowledge.”

“But he’s not going to _trade knowledge._ He just wants to fucking get to fucking Caleb before we can get him his fucking stuff back!” Beau hissed.

“We don’t _know_ that. That’s why we should… _cautiously_ accept his invitation, and make our judgments from there.”

Yasha sighed and looked over at Fjord. “They’ve been talking in circles for a really long time…”

Fjord chewed on the inside of his cheek. He abruptly stopped, so that he wouldn’t feel the blunt edge of his tusks against his lips; he cleared his throat and pulled himself back into the conversation, thinking seriously about each of their arguments.

“So… we can’t trust Ikithon because we can’t trust Ikithon,” he muttered, nodding at Beau. 

She nodded aggressively back at him. _“Yeah.”_

“And we can’t say _no_ to him because we don’t know what he wants. _Or_ what he knows,” Fjord continued, eyeing Caduceus. “And we don’t want to insult him. _Yet.”_

The grave cleric nodded calmly.

Fjord rubbed his scruff, pensive. “You both have valid points. And… yes, I want to catch her too. But-- is there a point to coming to a conclusion on this right now? The whole group isn’t here, this seems like a… ‘take a vote’ kind of thing. It’s not as if Ikithon gave us a deadline.”

“I mean… it was kind of implied,” Beau replied, brows creased.

“Not really,” Fjord pointed out. “He said ‘contact me when you’re ready to exchange information.’ Or _something_ along those lines, right? He--” he looked at his friends for confirmation, “-- he said send a message when we were rested and willing to exchange information. Right?”

“I don’t have a photographic memory like fuckin’ Caleb…” Beau mumbled, visibly frustrated.

“I feel confident it’s _close_ to that, at least. We _are_ rested, but we’re not willing to exchange information yet. So we shouldn’t contact him yet. It’s a loophole!”

“I just think this is a bad idea,” Caduceus confessed, searching Fjord’s face. “It’s not wise to pull a tiger’s tail.”

“Wait! _Wait!!”_ Beau exclaimed. She threw her arms wide, nearly elbowing Yasha in the face. She yelped and touched the dazed barbarian’s face. “Ah! Sorry, babe. Okay! But, but!!”

She grabbed one of her notebooks, rifling through it like a madwoman. “Okay, but what if we contacted _Oremid Hass?”_ she whispered excitedly, finally finding his name in her notes. _“He’s_ a member of the Cerberus Assembly! What if we contacted him, tried to communicate with _him_ instead of Ikithon? _That_ way, we’re _still_ working formally with the Assembly, but we don’t have to get in bed with Ickyfuck.”

Caduceus frowned. “Who is Oremid Hass again?”

“He’s the fuckin’... uhhh…” The monk checked her notes. “Archmage of Cultivation! He’s also the Headmaster of the Hall of Erudition, in Zadash! We talked with him once. He actually seemed kinda okay. And he didn’t trust Ikithon, which is something we have in _common,_ riiiight?”

“What’s the Archmage of Cultivation do again?” Fjord muttered, folding his arms and eyeing their notetaker. 

Yasha looked around cluelessly. “Does he grow plants or something…?”

“Shit, my notes don’t say… I’m guessing he deals with farmers? Or something? I mean, _somebody_ has to be in charge of the food supply.”

“In an organization of _archmages?”_ Fjord asked dubiously.

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man! I’m just trying to find a different solution than the one we were offered by the asshole that destroyed Caleb’s _life!”_ Beau snapped. She growled to herself, swearing under her breath as she shoved her notebooks back into her bag.

“I liked your idea, Beau…” Yasha whispered to her, rubbing her arm.

“Thanks, Yasha…” the monk mumbled. She snuggled in, half pouting as she accepted a pity cuddle from her big girlfriend. “I don’t feel very supported right now.”

“I support you…”

“I know,” Beau pouted. “I’m just bitchin’. Don’t worry about me.”

Fjord eyed the two of them, a little part of him going soft at the sight. He smiled crookedly and gave Beau a little thumbs-up. Beau still pouted, but she aimed a thumbs-up back at him. “So,” Caduceus murmured. “What are we doing?”

The door swung open behind them, a stealing glimpse of the rainclouds overhead marred by a chiming bell.

Fjord subconsciously glanced back, and immediately did a double take. 

Eodwulf met his gaze. Unflinching.

The same tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed scourger from the night before entered, his eyes sharper and colder than the sword at his side. Winterbraut’s hilt -- bright white and silver -- shimmered beneath the rich black of his expensive cloak, the Assembly’s crest etched in brass onto the clasp at his shoulder. He pushed his hood down over his short-cropped hair… and started to make his way over. It felt like Fjord’s heart had turned to ice. 

A screeching chair snapped him out of it and Fjord whirled, breathing hard through his nose. 

Yasha had stood up, eyes blazing and a hand at her sword.

Eodwulf raised a brow at her. But instead of stopping or speaking out of caution, the scourger just grabbed one of the empty chairs, lifted it, and -- with an effortless push -- placed it at their table. He sat down with a sigh… and gave Beau a once-over, eyes lingering at the scar.

_-“S-Stop…!”_

_Yasha fell to her knees, raising her hands. “Stop…!” she begged. Her throat threatened to close up, nearly suffocating her as she let her weapon fall to the ground with a deafening clatter. “Please… Please stop…! I-I’ll come with you…! Just stop. Please!”_

_Eodwulf stared at her, eyes dark and wide. His hands were shaking. Overbright with tears._

_Yasha sniffed and swallowed, looking at him. Imploring him. “Please…”_

_In the corners of her eyes, the scourgers were not moving. They stayed where they were, never taking their eyes off of Yasha. Waiting for instructions._

_Eodwulf let out a low, shaky breath… and lowered his magical blade. Yasha exhaled in bitter relief. She couldn’t relax, her eyes cast down, her head bowed in surrender as she listened to the click of his boots. He crossed the distance between him and…_

_Where was he going? He wasn’t coming towards her! He was going towards--!!_

_Yasha’s head whipped up just as Eodwulf swung his sword down. Beau twitched. Blue eyes opened for just an instant, staring up at the moon as every one of her muscles tensed… then relaxed. The life drained from her eyes._

_The scourger wiped his cold white blade clean on her sash._

_The monk was now laying in two pieces, cut cleanly in half at the waist, just as Yasha had done to his comrade.-_

Eodwulf turned his eyes to Yasha.

“The _fuck_ do you want?!” Yasha snarled, voice booming. 

This time, heads did _not_ turn. The other residents kept their noses in their afternoon tea and refused to look up. Beau swallowed, pale under her dusky brown complexion.

Eodwulf eyed the aasimar, taking a minute to analyze the four faces turned in his direction… and finally opened his cloak. Yasha tensed as he reached into its depths… but when his hand emerged again, it didn’t grip his sword. He held a small travelling stein, which he set smartly on the countertop.

Eodwulf snapped his fingers at a nearby waitress. She hurried over, clearing her throat at the sight of his official crest, and filled his stein without a word. He slipped her a gold coin, gave her lower back a gentle pat, and sat back, taking a deep draught of the brew as she hurried away.

The scourger eyed them all. “Don’t let me stop your plotting,” he murmured over his mug. “Go on.”

Yasha squinted at him. _“What._ Do you _want?”_ she whispered, her biceps rippling. She refused to sit down, her long, black and white hair dragging against the table. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“My master made you an offer.”

“We’re still considering it,” Beau muttered bluntly, her arms crossed over her belly.

Eodwulf took a small sip from his stein. “And you’re accepting it. I’m here, after all.”

Fjord was silent. Caduceus had a dark look on his face. Yasha was snarling quietly, furious and protective as a cornered lioness, and Beau’s blue eyes were wary, her white-knuckled fists clenched defensively at her ribs.

Eodwulf finished his drink. “Let us speak plainly.”

He glanced around for the waitress. She hurried back over to him; he gave her his stein. “Wash that out, if you would. Thank you,” he murmured, then turned his attention back to the Nein. He interlaced his fingers over his stomach, eyes hard as stone as he looked at Beau. “Your order and my order reached an understanding last night. Asking you to voluntarily provide information was, ah… a formality. You may have authority over this investigation. But as a servant to the Empire and its interests, I am here to make sure that Miss Emmeline Becker -- wherever and however we find her -- is served justice.”

“You’re not confident in the Cobalt Soul’s ability to serve justice?” Beau replied, her voice dulled, in an attempt to hide the anger and anxiety squirming in her gut.

“My opinions do not matter.” Eodwulf’s gaze was steady. “You may represent the Cobalt Soul. You may be an Expositor. But you are an estranged child of the organization at best, flitting back and forth in your dealings with the Krynn Dynasty. You do not have enough knowledge of the Cerberus Assembly’s interests in order to serve them in this matter. What _matters_ is that my master is not confident in _your_ ability to serve justice.”

Beau scowled. “What does your master know about _my_ abilities?”

Eodwulf raised his eyebrows at her, unimpressed.

Beau squirmed in Yasha’s lap, then rolled her eyes angrily and looked up at the ceiling.

Fjord glared sidelong at the scourger. “What’re you supposed to do?”

Eodwulf opened his mouth to answer, then the waitress came back, offering him his clean stein. He took it back and secured it to his belt before he answered. “Tag along.”

He gave Fjord a once-over.

The half-orc immediately realized he was disguised as a human. Under the illusion, Fjord flushed with shame. He shrunk subconsciously into himself, glaring at the table, his face burning.

Thankfully, Eodwulf didn’t comment on it. He sighed and rested his back against his chair. “I am not here to undermine your authority in this investigation,” the scourger told them all firmly. “I am not here to threaten you or stab you in your sleep. I am simply here to make sure this job is done in a timely manner, and -- once Becker is found, if you wish me to -- take her off your hands.”

“What interest does the Assembly have in Becker?” Beau asked suspiciously.

“If I knew, I would tell you,” Eodwulf replied. He was ice cold, but honest. “The name is unfamiliar. I do not know who she is, nor what she looks like. I will need your assistance in identifying her.”

Beau scoffed. “You were sent to look for her and you don’t even know what she _looks_ like?”

Eodwulf took a deep, patient breath, rubbing his temple, trying to ward off a rapidly forming headache. “I was not _sent to look for her._ I was sent to make sure _you_ don’t find her and run away with her without _telling_ anyone. She gave false information to a government official, and she is a powerful caster outside of the Empire’s influence. That makes her a threat.”

“Yeah. Because you’re so great at handling threats,” Yasha shot back, her voice deadly quiet.

Eodwulf’s eyes narrowed. He looked sternly at Yasha, looking her over. “...Alright.”

He stood up. “You’re going to be that way? Let’s go.”

Nobody moved.

Eodwulf gestured at the door, never breaking eye contact with Yasha. “Come on then,” he snapped in his deep, grumbling bass. “If you are going to be aggressive with me in every interaction we have, let us finish it now and be done with it. By all means, _keep_ pissing me off.”

“You gonna call your buddies again?” Beau growled.

“I did not bring them. I do not need them to handle _you.”_

Thunder rumbled outside.

Fjord finally piped up. “I-- I-I… okay!” 

He stood to his full height, puffing out his chest and hurrying to stand between the scourger and his party despite the nerves that twisted in his chest. “Alright, _nobody_ likes this,” he whispered, looking between both of them. “I understand. But it-- it just looks like we’ll have to deal with this for a while. Yes?”

Fjord turned to Eodwulf, steeling himself. “You. You say you’ll take care of Becker once we’re done with her.”

Eodwulf raised his jaw, regarding him for a moment. “It is an option. Yes.”

“I don’t see why that’s a problem. As long as we get what we need from her first.”

“Which is?”

Fjord pulled in a deep breath, hesitating… then finally let it go, eyes dark. “She stole Caleb’s things,” he murmured. “His spellbook, his bag-- his _important_ things. We want them back. After that we get those, you can do whatever you want to her.”

Eodwulf looked him over, the skin around his eyes tightening.

Meanwhile, Caduceus searched the man’s face; there were subtleties there that flickered behind strong emotional walls, like weak candlelight between the arrow slits of a watchtower. He was well trained to hide his emotions. Against most men and creatures, maybe he could have concealed the sudden flash of recognition… then sadness… then anger and _determination,_ at the sound of Caleb’s name.

 _-“Ah, my apologies, I am usually much more cordial than this-- You caught me in the middle of my…_ **_work mode,”_ ** _Trent grinned lightly, wicked eyes bright with interest. He offered them all a smile, as if to share a laugh with them, but when none of the Nein so much as chortled he swiftly dropped the pretense._

_He turned to the two scourgers guarding the Beacon. He waved towards the halfling woman. “This is Owelia. She is, ah, one of my more recent students, more recently graduated.”_

_Caduceus saw Caleb’s expression flicker briefly in agony at that word. ‘Graduated.’_

_But there was no time to linger on it, because Ikithon was already moving on, gesturing to the large, strapping human male on the other side. “This is Eodwulf… who is a, uh, long-time associate, and one of my_ **_favorite_ ** _associates. I…”_

_His evil, hooded eyes -- still glittering with amusement -- once again landed on Caleb. “Believe you two already know each other…” Trent purred._

_The look that Caleb and Eodwulf exchanged was_ **_full_ ** _of history.-_

Outside, a soft rain began to patter against the windows. Caduceus felt understanding wash over him, warm and uncomfortably stark.

“That sounds more than reasonable to me,” Eodwulf told Fjord sternly. He turned to the side, opening one arm, gesturing for the four members of the Mighty Nein to take point. “Shall we go?”

There was a moment of tense silence... 

Then, finally, Caduceus grunted softly and got up, tucking away his tea kit. “That sounds just fine. It seems to me we have enough mutual interests to go together for a while.”

He peered at Beau and Yasha, giving them a subtle, reassuring nod. “Yeah?”

Beau scowled darkly and threw up her arms. “Fuckin’... yeah. Sure,” she snapped halfheartedly. She got up. “Let’s _go_ with the _Assembly_ guy…”

“Actually, ah, no.” Fjord squared his shoulders. The other members of the Nein stopped, watching him as he fixed Eodwulf with a firm scowl. “We’re not going right now.”

Eodwulf squinted at him. “Why not.”

“We’re waiting for Caleb. He will be here in a few hours, along with the other two members of our team,” Fjord told him, deceptively calm and stern as he met the scourger’s eyes. “If you will give us until morning to get our affairs in order, then we will set out.”

Eodwulf clenched his jaw… but he exhaled hotly through his nose and eyed the others. 

Yasha gave him a glare that could peel paint.

“...Fine.”

The volstrucker captain fixed Fjord with a stern look, eyes cold and dark as ice. “I will return in the morning,” he murmured sharply. “Until then, I will know if you leave. Stay here, rest, and wait for the rest of your party to arrive.”

“That was the plan for today,” Fjord lied softly, trying to swallow the tightness in his throat. “We will see you tomorrow.”

Eodwulf sighed heavily, shook his head, and departed with a swoop of his dark cape, yanking his hood up over his ears. He left the Camarouth Cottage, walking out into the soft, grey, rainy day, and was gone.

Fjord let out a bursting sigh of relief. _“Fuck…”_ he hissed, rubbing his face. “Well, I guess we’re not going anywhere till Caleb gets here!”

“And now we have no choice…” Beau muttered. She eyed Caduceus. “Hope you’re happy.”

“This may be a blessing in disguise,” the firbolg told them quietly, eyes still on the door that had swung closed behind Eodwulf. “Caleb knows him. We may have an easier time working with him when Caleb _is_ here.”

“I don’t like it…” Fjord grumbled, voice muffled through his hands. He shoved his chair back. “I’m gonna go get breakfast and go upstairs. I got-- shit I gotta do…”

Yasha, Beau, and Caduceus watched him as he jogged upstairs.

“Did…” Beau turned to the other two, brows furrowed. “Did he just use his old accent? The ‘eldritch blaaaast’ one?”

“Yeah…” Yasha murmured pensively.

Caduceus looked up the stairs after Fjord, fingers tight around his bag.

...

Emmeline stumbled forward. She gasped and grabbed at Caleb Widogast’s bag of holding, making sure it didn’t slide off her shoulder as she stumbled back. Almost instantly, she hit the wall of Koss’s body. “Oof!”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. Koss smirked and dropped his Disguise Self. “Hey.”

“Hey…” Emmeline muttered uneasily, looking around at the strange new place. “Where are we?”

The three Locksmith mages stood in the ruins of a buried, once-magnificent atrium of grey stone, worn smooth by the elements and entombed by the earth. Her voice echoed off the walls, bouncing off a high, cracked ceiling, where small trickles of water were just beginning to emerge from the distant thunderstorm -- muffled by dozens of meters of rock and dirt. There was no sunlight in this space; no stealing glimpses of a clouded sky. A dull light illuminated the ruins instead, a carpet of strange mushrooms casting a soft, blue-and-purple glow over Leofric, Emmeline, and Koss’s faces.

“I’m going to go get changed and talk to Lady Seledo,” Leofric grumbled. He waved a hand around dismissively and limped down the uneven floor, into the half-crumbled archway on the other side of the room. Each footstep sent up a puff of glowing cyan spores. “You give her the history lesson.”

“Okay!”

Koss waved at the old soldier as he disappeared down the slope, then he turned to Emmeline. “Welcoooooome…”

He wound up, turned, and threw his arms wide, proudly showing off the dripping ruins. “To _Fort_ _Zandrazi!”_ the older dragonborn announced, voice echoing like a fighting pit announcer off the smooth, wet stones. “Old fortress of Julous Dominion. Buried by mudslides! Over four hundred years old! One of first fortresses to be conquered by Empire in Marrow War. Now, three hundred years later, Empire rebels call it home.”

 _“Isn’t that dangerous?”_ Emmeline asked worriedly, switching to the clipped, edged tones of Draconic.

Koss sighed in relief and switched over too. Common was his second language. _“Druids from Zadash shored up the structural instabilities long before I joined. This old fort might look terrible, but she’s sturdy as a mountain. More importantly, it just looks like a hill from the outside, so nobody from the Empire can find us.”_

Emmeline glanced back at the teleportation circle, etched permanently into the patch of weathered stone floor. _“Aren’t you worried that someone will find a circle in the middle of a dead sunflower field?”_ she asked, rubbing her arms nervously and stepping into the mushrooms.

Koss shook his head. _“Nope. An illusory charm shows that teleportation circle as nothing but a patch of weeds from the air, and if someone tries to walk any other route to it, they’ll either fall into open ditches with detecting charms or get blown up.”_

Emmeline’s jaw dropped. _“Get_ **_blown up?!”_ **

_“Of course. What do you think Leofric was doing out there when you arrived?_ _  
__Burying radishes?”_

 _“I didn’t think he was burying_ **_mines.”_ **

Koss chuckled and waved her forward, leading his old friend deeper into the ruins. _“Besides, even if some poor bastard managed to get in, this place is_ **_dense_ ** _with traps, all the way to the inner sanctum. I pity the first Empire soldier that manages to fumble their way in here.”_

Emmeline hurried forward, making sure to stick right on his tail. Literally. Her ankles occasionally bumped his long, scaly tail. _“Who_ **_set_ ** _all these traps? And the charms you were talking about--”_

_“Lady Seledo.”_

The enchantress frowned. _“I thought you only had two casters including Leofric.”_

 _“Well, she’s not really a ‘caster’-- watch your head.”_ Koss ducked under a low-bearing boulder, keeping his arm carefully between it and Emmeline. Once she was through, he edged slowly out from under it. _“Make sure not to touch that on your way out, one little touch and it’ll crush what’s underneath-- Ahhh, but yes. Quana studied at Soltryce. She has no affinity for casting more traditional spells, like you or me, but she excels at illusory and protective charms.”_

_“Illusion and abjuration?”_

_“Oh shush, you know I don’t understand your fancy wizard terms.”_

Emmeline snorted and rolled her eyes softly, staying close to him as they continued to walk down the halls. Muffled thunder rolled aboveground, so distant that it was almost a comforting hum. A few minutes passed as they made their way through a labyrinth of halls and hidden doors; more than once, Emmeline had to reach through a draping, half-rotten curtain to pull a lever before they could continue safely. True to Koss’s words, she spotted several evocation and abjuration runes along the walls, sure that she was likely missing at least a few…

Around the ten minute mark, Emmeline found herself washed over with a bittersweet nostalgia, even though she had never seen this place before.

 _“... Were you and Elias here a lot?”_ she asked softly.

Her brother’s name sounded almost alien in a Draconic dialect. Koss’s smile flickered. He hesitated, but he nodded.

 _“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”_ Emmeline murmured, her eyes fixed forward.

Koss didn’t answer, not for a few seconds. His silence was pregnant with tension… but finally, he sighed and answered. _“You were studying at Soltryce. You were a loyalist. You were… practically rubbing elbows with the Cerberus Assembly, and we didn’t know if you would take our side if you knew. And worse, if you_ **_did_ ** _take our side… it would mean giving up everything you’d been working for. I was planning on telling you when you were settled and we were_ **_married,_ ** _but--”_

Emmeline cut back to Common, her voice hard. “Don’t.”

_“I just, Emmie, I--”_

“Koss, it’s the past,” Emmeline told him quietly, firmly shutting down the conversation. “It’s not your fault, but there’s no undoing the past. I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”

The blue dragonborn was silent, still quietly moving forward. Neither of them looked at each other.

Emmeline heard a shift of fabric, and glanced up. A big, scaled hand had reached back, open and offering.

She hesitated -- her heart aching -- as she contemplated Koss’s warm, familiar palm. She knew what those scales would feel like between her fingers; tingling and awakening, _especially_ in a thunderstorm. If she raised his knuckles to her lips, she would feel a soft shock of static, and hear his tail slide happily against the ground. Maybe a growl. A reptilian purr, just as smitten as she was...

For a moment, she was eighteen again. Made breathless by the sweet, blue electricity that was Koss Killmesh.

Emmeline reached out without thinking… then a golden glimmer caught her eye.

Her wedding ring gleamed innocently on her left hand.

The enchantress’s heart went cold and sad, heavy as stone. She lowered her hand, leaving Koss’s fingers empty.

A few seconds later, Koss seemed to realize that she wouldn’t take his silent offer. The muscles in his reptilian jaw clenched… and he closed his fist, leaving it gently clasped at his side. “Okay...” he whispered, switching back to his rough Common.

He forced a smile back onto his face, grinning over his shoulder. “We are close! Little more!”

Emmeline’s heart was sore as an open wound. She _wanted_ to reassure him, tell him that she _wanted_ to… but she just couldn’t. She knew that saying something like that wouldn’t do any good. So, she didn’t.

They remained silent the rest of the way into the inner sanctum.

Finally, at the end of the final hallway, the ruins opened _wide._ Emmeline winced, lashes fluttering as she was abruptly awash with firelight; her eyes adjusted to the cavern slowly, and finally, she could look around. Lanterns, braziers, cook fires, and candles blazed everywhere, flickering firelight illuminating a hive of activity in a cave that could easily hold a thousand people. Tents were pitched, big and small, across the rough, sloped floor. People in piecemeal metal and leather armor crossed to and fro, chatting amongst themselves and eating out of hand-carved wooden bowls. Raindrops and natural grey light poured down through a massive crack in the ceiling -- well over two hundred feet above their heads -- and down another sixty feet, into a lowered, rectangular basin that had once been a carved map of Western Wynandir. There, ancient commanders of the Julous Dominion had paced and contemplated their strategy to win the Marrow War. Now, it was a slop pit of boulders, mud, and cracked and fallen pillars; a training arena for the Empire rebels. Even from here, Emmeline could see men and women sparring despite the rain. Others seemed to be running an obstacle course across the rain-slick boulders. Even in ruins, Fort Zandrazi had an air of resistance. Blazing and _thriving,_ even under the very nose of the Dwendalian Empire, three _centuries_ later.

Suddenly, a bright, resonating Draconic voice rose over the din. “Сеть смерти, ты любитель ящериц!” _Killmesh, you lizard lover!!_

A huge, muscular copper dragonborn sprang out of nowhere. Emmeline yelped, half hiding behind a nearby tent as he yanked Koss into a headlock, cackling. Instinctively, she analyzed his equipment, trying to figure out his specialty. Minimal armor, multiple _heavy_ bronze axes -- including one two-handed monstrosity that likely weighed more than she did -- and a bear tattoo inked across his broad back. _Barbarian? Totem barbarian?_

“You haven’t been back in weeks!!” the shiny copper creature roared. 

“And he brought somebody _with_ him,” a female voice whispered.

Emmeline squeaked softly and whirled at the new voice. A small woman emerged from the shadows behind her, draped in a rogue’s black cloak and hood. She wasn’t an inch taller than five feet, with deep brown skin, a strong nose, and rich, chocolate-colored curls that spilled out from her hood. Her eyes were dark more than just literally. She had a killer’s eyes. _Rogue. Assassin rogue. A good one._

Koss chuckled and tapped at the copper dragonborn’s arm; he grinned and let go of him. “Dharuun the _Dragon,”_ he introduced. “Resident strong man!”

“Strong _dragon!”_ Dharuun declared, flexing magnanimously.

Koss pointed to the black-clad woman behind Emmeline. “Aaron Depololio. Good at hiding. Good at stabbing.”

Aaron smirked crookedly, fingers walking along the hilt of her rapier. “Fair enough.”

“Koss!!” 

“Koss!”

Two more voices called out. Emmeline threw her hands up in bewilderment, searching the forming crowd until she spotted a young human couple tumbling towards them. The woman was barely past her teen years, beaming with excitement and heavy with child. The man was just as young, with crooked teeth and short blonde hair that was all cowlicks. Both were tousled and tanned, a little dirty from several days underground. 

“Mary! Pickam!” Koss called. 

Emmeline sighed, feeling horribly uncomfortable already and sorely out of place as the young couple practically tackled Koss. “Yeah, I’ll just-- I’ll just go find Leon--”

“No no no no! No no!” Koss ordered, grinning and reaching over the young couple to drag Emmeline back. She whined halfheartedly, not putting up much of a fight. 

Meanwhile, the blue dragonborn ruffled Pickam’s hair. “Good to see all!! _Good_ to see all. Introductions!”

He squeezed her shoulders. Emmeline folded her arms, avoiding eye contact and flushing all the way up to her ears. “This… is Baroness _Emelia Petra Schulze._ Very fancy. Very very good at magic. Very smart. Very pretty.”

“Oh my god. Koss.” Emmeline buried her burning face in her hands.

“Amazing and magic and smart and witty! Best girl.”

“Koss, _please_ stop.”

“Always tells Koss to stop giving compliments!” Koss grinned, looking at the others. “Never stop. Emmie _never_ gets too many compliments.”

Aaron’s brows raised delicately. “Emmie. As in… _the_ Emmie?”

“Oh gods, I am truly sorry for any stories he has told you!” Emmeline fussed, still blushing bright red as she raised her hands innocently. “It was not _any_ intention of mine! _All_ him!”

 _“All_ Koss,” Koss grinned. 

Mary and Pickam stared at each other in fright. “The-- _What?”_ the young wife whispered.

“Yes, yes, we all know I am a recluse and my house has a bloody reputation,” Emmeline grumbled. “Can we get past that?”

“Calm down with your ghost tales, hayseeds,” Aaron purred. She slunk over to Emmeline’s side, crossing her arms over her chest to push up her cleavage; the enchantress turned pink and groaned, hiding her face again at the rogue’s obviously flirtatious look. “I _like_ dangerous women.”

Koss patted her shoulders and let her go, backing away as the others closed in curiously, peering closer at the female wizard. He watched from a few feet away… and finally, he let his wide smile gently fade into something softer, a little sadder. The woman was blushing, flustered, fielding questions as politely as she could. He watched her fingers rapidly comb her bangs away from her face, black eyes occasionally flickering to him…

He loved her eyes on him. 

“Enough faffing about!!” Leofric barked. 

Emmeline, Koss, and everyone else within shouting distance immediately turned. Leofric had emerged from the edge of the encampment in an entirely new uniform; gone were his peasant’s rags, replaced by a sturdy steel breastplate over a warm, quilted linen gambeson. The armor had seen its share of combat, covered with hairline cuts and a tarnished spot where an acid splash couldn’t be buffed out. It retained none of its shine -- scarred, just like its wearer -- but Leofric had taken care of it through more than a decade of service, not allowing even a fleck of rust to accumulate in its crevices. The same could be said for the longsword sheathed at his side and the shield at his back. On his other side, Leofric had wrapped his skinny, beaten-up spellbook in wax paper to protect it from the mud.

He beckoned them all down the tumbled-down rocks, down into the mud. “We have an initiation to start!”

“Ah… right…” Emmeline gave Pickam an apologetic nod, but she still hurried as quickly as she could down the ruin. 

Aaron, Dharuun, Mary, Pickam, and several interested others filed down to the stone steps, glancing curiously at the dozens of soldiers going to collect their weapons.

Meanwhile, Emmeline stumbled -- grimacing when her boots hit the mud -- and hurried up to Leofric’s side, tucked into the corner of the makeshift arena. “What exactly am I doing for this ‘initiation?’” she whispered. She scowled and tried to shake some of the muck off of her skirts, combing back her hair which was quickly darkening from the rain.

Leofric checked the brace on his bad leg, tightening the straps on it. “You’ll be fighting thirty men.”

Emmeline went stock still.

She stared at him, dripping wet. _“What.”_

“Are you hard of hearing?”

“N-No, I-I heard you,” she stuttered. She looked up, taking a quick count of the rebels with weapons descending into the pit; about thirty feet up, she spotted Lady Seledo taking one of the only dry spots for herself, getting a proper view of the pit from above. “But-- that’s _insane._ I’m only one person.”

“I told Lady Seledo that you’re capable of high level magic. She said to make up the difference. So instead of ten men, you get thirty.”

“How can you have at least a _hundred people_ here and only have _two combat mages_ in your ranks…?!” Emmeline whispered. “Practically _one!_ Is-- Is she expecting me to--?! Hey!” 

Emmeline grabbed his arm and pulled him back towards her, eyes wild. _“Leon,”_ she hissed. “That’s not _safe._ I’m _sure_ that you and your men will _not_ be attempting to kill me, otherwise Koss would not be letting this happen, but I do not have _safe fighting spells. You_ can strike me in the back of the head. If I use my spells against you I will _kill you.”_

“I doubt that,” Leofric told her sternly. “If you have no choice but to kill, you are a very uncreative spellcaster.”

 _“Leofric,_ you don’t _know_ anything about combat magic! You’re being _ridiculous!”_

“And you’re trying to protect people that don’t _want_ protection. If we die when you are not trying to kill us, what chance would we have against the Assembly?”

“That’s not the point I’m trying to _make,_ you--!”

Leofric pulled his arm out of her hand. “Steady your hand, Lady Becker,” he ordered her, meeting her eyes. Emmeline faltered, staring at him in disbelief, and he didn’t even give her a chance to retort. 

He stepped out into the rocks and the mud -- tiny waterfalls of rain pouring down around them from the broken ceiling high above -- and he was gone.

Emmeline scoffed in disbelief, hands flying to the sides of her head. What was he _thinking?!_ She couldn’t fight properly against thirty men in some ruined colosseum, not if she wasn’t trying to kill them all! She _could_ kill them all, certainly, given time! She had only cast Disguise Self, Remove Curse, and Polymorph today! Her entire upper arsenal was available, but there was no… no nonfatal way, no _clean_ way, no _honorable way_ to do this.

“...Fine. Won’t listen to me?”

Emmeline swore softly and flung open her spellbook, swiftly casting Mage Armor on herself. Then, she flipped to her more advanced spells, finding a fourth-level illusion that she hadn’t used in a while.

“Then it’s time to do what _I_ do best…” the enchantress muttered furiously. _“Play dirty.”_

She cast Greater Invisibility on herself and sprinted out into the ruins.

…

Leofric heard the splat of boots in the mud. “ENEMY APPROACHES!”

He drew his sword, turned, saw _nothing--_ and suddenly, he saw the briefest flicker of motion against the falling raindrops. Like two invisible palms slamming together.

…

Emmeline sprinted past Leofric, slapped her hands together, and cast Thunderclap.

The resulting crack _split_ the air. 

Fallen pillars and boulders trembled for just an instant, chips scattering off, and hidden among the ruins Emmeline heard screams of agony, almost faded in comparison to the roar of thunder she had evoked. Leofric -- standing less than ten feet behind her -- had stumbled to his knees, bleeding from the nose and swearing the air blue.

She stumbled, blinking hard. Oh hells, that one was powerful.

“IF YOU WANT TO LIVE, DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND COVER YOUR EARS!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

Up in the makeshift stands, the onlookers immediately covered their ears. Down in the pit, Leofric grabbed a nearby boulder, sword still gripped in one hand. “Scheiße…!” he gasped, eyes wide. “Wo zum Teufel ist sie hingegangen?!” _Where the fuck did she go?!_ A dozen young soldiers came stumbling blindly around the edges of the runes, searching for her voice, visibly bleeding from their noses and ears. But they didn’t drop their weapons.

Emmeline hesitated… then looked up at Lady Seledo.

The woman was nursing a nosebleed, her eyes sweeping the arena for any sign of Emmeline. But she hadn’t called them to stop.

“I _want_ to stop!” Emmeline called. She hated how much it sounded like pleading. _“Let me stop!”_

“There she is!” a soldier yelled.

An arrow whizzed through the air. Emmeline _screamed_ as it sprouted from her shoulder, the cry dissolving into a furious grunt as she reached up and yanked it from her shoulder. “W-What--”

That was a steel arrowhead.

That was a _real fucking steel arrowhead._

Emmeline’s breath snagged in her chest. Her lungs seized. A low, dull thrum roared in her ears…

She couldn’t breathe.

_-The moon burned like a spotlight down on Emmeline’s back. “Hah… hah…”_

_The heavy stench of copper filled her nose. “Hah…”_

_She took in the sight before her… then swallowed, placed her hands in the warm, spreading pool of blood, and got up. Heat splattered down the hem of her soaked skirt. In the moonlight, Caleb’s blood shone black.-_

She could see helmets and spears.

They were closing in on her. 

Emmeline’s lungs clenched. Her eyes spun, trying to find Koss in the crowd… and finally she found him. Standing next to Lady Seledo, hands firmly over his ear slits, his pupils contracted with worry. But he didn’t do anything to stop them.

Koss was letting this happen.

They were trying to kill her.

_-In the shadows, a lasso landed around her throat. Emmeline’s gasp was cut short as it pulled tight. Hooves clattered past her, and ripped her off her feet. The cobblestone might as well have been broken glass with the ease of which they broke her skin. No air. Panic. Pain._

_She caught the sight of blue eyes. Then her back slammed against a wall, and there was nothing but_ **_black._ ** _-_

“Stop--!!”

_-”Where are they hiding?” a deep voice growled, tense with stress. She was young. She was exhausted. She was blindfolded. She was still in her dress from the winter formal, now splattered in her own dried blood. “I don’t know! I-I don’t know…!”_

_A fist connected. Blood. Cracking, crunching cartilage. Raw, red blood rolling down the back of her throat. “Where are they hiding?” the boy snarled again._

_“Stop…! I don’t know_ **_anything!_ ** _I just want to go home! I just w-want to see Petra…!”-_

A gauntleted hand smacked against her ankle. It was just fumbling blindly against her invisibility. But it was enough to break the dam.

 **_-“I JUST WANT TO SEE MY BABY!”_ ** _Emmeline shrieked, barely twenty-one years old.-_

Her eyes clenched shut. _“STOP!!”_

Emmeline smashed her hands together again.

The second shockwave blasted dust, then mud off the ruins. More men screamed. Weapons clattered to the ground, hands of their owners flying to their ears. Thunder roared in the depths of the sunken pit, crashing a third time. A fourth time. A fifth time. A sixth time. Wave after wave of force burst through the air -- one hundred feet in every direction -- scattering raindrops and felling young soldiers. Koss grabbed Lady Seledo, the woman holding her head, blood dripping from her ears, and cast Dimension Door to whip her out of range. Leofric roared in pain as he half-fell into the muck. Finally, he dropped his weapon into the mud and covered his ears, curled up into a ball…

Then… finally… the thunderclaps stopped.

Leofric pulled in a shaky breath, tasting copper in the back of his throat… and slowly looked up, his fingers shaking. The ground all around him was littered with young men and women, unconscious or whining softly in pain, nursing broken eardrums and burst cataracts. He dragged himself over to the nearest motionless body, yanked off a glove, and checked their pulse.

It was a little weak, and fluttering. But they were alive. _Thank the gods…_

He licked his cracked and bleeding lips, searching around for Emmeline. “Needless to say!” he croaked, feeling barely conscious himself. “You pass!”

Emmeline snapped into the visible spectrum, right in front of him, and threw the bloodied arrow at his feet. “What the _hell_ was that?!” she roared.

Leofric glanced down at it. “It’s--”

“You said you weren’t going to try to kill me!! If that’s true, then why were your people using _real ammunition?!_ Whatever _idiot_ fired this could have caught me in the neck! Or the _spine!!”_

“We do this to everyone, Miss Becker. It’s why it’s initiation,” Leofric groaned, rubbing his aching, tingling face. Whatever she had done had left his head buzzing. “Make them _think_ they are safe in an unmatched situation, and then _show_ them they are not. Different people react in different ways. We don’t need someone that will surrender. We need people that will fight to the end, as long as they are able--”

“IT IS _LADY SCHULZE!_ AND I DID NOT NEED YOU TO _SHOW_ ME THAT _I’M NOT SAFE!”_

Emmeline’s chest heaved, eyes wild as she stared down at the older man. “I have never felt safe,” she hissed. “Not for _one day_ in the past _seventeen years._ No matter how far I ran, or who I allied myself with, who I traveled with, who I controlled. The Traveler was kind for a time but he _betrayed me._ I thought I might find refuge in you people, but you’re _all the fucking same!”_

She whirled, pointing up into the stands. “Locksmiths, Assembly, you’re _ALL THE SAME!_ You just _hurt_ people to get what you need!”

The onlookers were deathly silent. Over a hundred eyes, staring at her in silence. In _judgement._ She sniffed, a hand pressed against her wound, her stomach twisting in knots. She started to walk away.

“Wh-where are you going?” Leofric rasped. He managed to stand. “There are no casualties. It was a good display. You passed!”

“Piss off…” Emmeline spat, her ears ringing.

He groaned in exasperation and hurried forward, gripping her arm. “Emmeline—“

“PISS OFF!”

She whirled, a bolt of hissing, spitting fire searing past his face. She missed by an _inch._

Leofric stumbled back, arms thrown up in defense, eyes wide with panic. He wasn’t even burned… but he crouched there, breathing hard, staring at her in fear.

Emmeline swallowed hard, her face deathly pale. Her blood ran cold. “I-I…”

She looked down at her fingers… and all across the fifty soldiers that littered the buried courtyard. They were slowly sitting up, groaning and grasping their heads. Some were shaking others awake, swearing softly to themselves. She hadn’t killed anyone. There was blood, but… she hadn’t killed _anyone… What did he say? There were no casualties…?_

The ringing in her ears slowly faded… and Emmeline finally came back to herself.

“I-I’m… I’m sorry,” she whispered, meeting Leofric’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I— I didn’t mean to throw that at you.” _I knew fire would make you run._ “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

There was a pop and a flash of arcane energy.

Koss reappeared in the arena, yellow eyes flickering around. The audience had been whispering uncertainly, watching Emmeline, but as soon as he appeared, eyes snapped to him… and the whispering went silent. Waiting for a verdict.

Koss swallowed… and marched right up to Emmeline.

She turned to stare at him, her black eyes wide and overfull. Oh god. She’d disappointed him. She’d snapped. _What’s he going to do? What’s he--?_ Koss grabbed her hand. Emmeline flinched, clenching her eyes shut, waiting for a raised hand or a raised voice…

It took a few seconds to realize that neither had occurred. Emmeline pulled in a shaky breath, slowly opening her eyes. She looked up into soft, golden, reptilian eyes. 

Koss gave her a tiny, bittersweet smile, a gentle nod… and he finally turned to the rest of the crowd; among the faces, he made meaningful eye contact with Dharuun. The copper dragonborn straightened, listening intently.

Koss spoke in Draconic. “Я знаю эту женщину двадцать два года.”

“‘I have known this woman for twenty-two years!’” Dharuun translated, deep voice resonating over the crowd.

The blue dragonborn looked softly at Emmeline. _“The Assembly hurt her. The Empire stole her life, in ways that many of you can’t imagine. She is damaged. She will tell you as much. But aren’t we all?”_

Koss looked back at Leofric. The silver-haired, scarred man was still pale, blue eyes haunted by the fire that had swiped so close to his face… but a look from Koss seemed to shake him out of it. 

Leofric swallowed, and finally stood upright. His gaze hardened with determination.

Koss turned his eyes to the rebellion. _“We are children of the Empire!”_ he declared. _“Her magic, her intelligence, and her wrath will be unmatched on the battlefield. Accept her, and it will be a victory for us all!”_

Emmeline squeezed Koss’s hand subconsciously, ducking her head as Koss continued, and the copper dragonborn translated for the assembled Locksmiths. With each word, the whispers faded, replaced with the rapt attention that a crowd gave a respected official, and then nodding, and then _applause._

She flushed softly, hiding her face in one hand. She lacked the strength to even meet their eyes as the young rebels flooded down into the arena, to help up their friends from the ground and give her a congratulatory pat. These were _his_ people. They were _Elias’s_ people. People of ferocity and freedom, with strength, dignity, and good humor in dark times. Gods only knew how long they had been here. Decades, at the very least. And it was a miracle that they were still here. Her brother couldn’t have been the only one dead. Husbands, wives, friends… there were ghosts that lingered in the air here at Fort Zandrazi. _So many people_ that they had befriended, loved, and lost… all in the name of making a better future for the Empire.

A gentle pressure on her hand made her look up. Koss gave her wet hair a gentle nuzzle -- a soft touch that barely lasted a second -- and he let her hand go. Emmeline watched him go, people all around her, her thin chest sore with gratefulness and desire.

She could only hope that she would earn a place among them. There was hope, after all. There was _always_ hope.

…

Hours passed. For Fjord, it felt like a lifetime.

In Rexxentrum -- sitting on the windowsill of their bedroom -- the half-orc finally dropped his Disguise Self, silently watching the soft, grey day turn into a dark and stormy night. Raindrops spattered against the glass like the tears of the Wildmother, mourning the hours lost and the prison that surrounded them with warm, man-made luxury. Fjord had been trying to learn how to pray… but after the first hour, he just settled for meditating. Prayers felt pointless, patience curdling silently into self-inflicted apathy.

Caleb would return soon. And Fjord would have been failing, sleeping, or sitting in a windowsill the entire time. Empty-handed.

Suddenly -- far too soon, and yet an eternity later -- there was a flash down below.

Fjord blinked slowly… and looked down into the cobblestone street. Four figures had appeared in the muck outside the Camarouth Cottage. One of them, eerily tall and still, like he was floating, seemed to say something to one of the other figures, shaking his hand; Essek. He spotted an ivory-skinned hand reach back through the rain… and threads of damp red hair, nearly obscured by the hooded cloak.

_Caleb._

It was hard to tell whether his heart had skipped a beat before or after it had sunk deep into his gut. Fjord heard the noise of Beauregard sprinting downstairs, banging on doors as she went, but it sounded strangely distant to him.

He took a deep breath, sending up one last silent prayer to the Wildmother, and went to go greet his friends.

_Please help them not to be too disappointed in me..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE M9 ARE FINALLY BACK TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!! AFTER LIKE- shit, the last time that they were ALL TOGETHER without the Feeblemind was Chapter 1?????? THE WIZARD IS BACK!! I'VE MISSED HIM!! AAAAAAAAA!! FINALLY!! THINGS CAN HAPPEN NOW!!!!!!!!!! and omg Emmie... this is gonna be an interesting evening to play out next chapter...


	16. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mighty Nein are reunited... and Caleb asks for Fjord's assistance in a matter of the arcane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's shorter than normal, but i typed a bit of the next few scenes and tbh the scenes just work BETTER as their own individual chapters... anyway, this chapter turned out to be 92% widofjord deliciousness and i am extremely happy about it.

Fjord took an unsteady breath, and felt his feet press down against the stairs, listening to the creaking wood rather than Jester and Beau’s excited babble drifting up the stairs. The hour felt later than it really was. Dread clung to the inside of his throat, dragging his shoulders down as he finally reached the landing… and looked down.

Two cloaked figures were just pulling off their hoods — one tall and one short — unveiling familiar brown braids and wet blue curls. Fjord’s heart immediately softened at the visage of Jester’s happy smile, even the sight of Veth. It had only been of a few days, but gods, it felt like forever.

Then, he noticed Beau, who had forced the remaining cloaked figure into a headlock under her armpit. “Don’t fuckin’  _ scare us like that ever again!” _

“Ow.  _ Yes, _ alright. Ow ow. My neck, please. There is a kitten hiding in there. Ow.”

Fjord’s chest constricted at the hushed Zemnian accent.  _ Caleb? _

As the monk awkwardly loosened her grip, the figure twisted carefully in her gasp, pulling down the hood. His long, copper hair was wet from the rain, threads of it pulling free of his ponytail to trail into those  _ incredible _ blue eyes. For an heartbreaking instant, Fjord’s mind superimposed those lightless, repressed,  _ animal _ eyes of the Feeblemind into Caleb’s face — and a flash of a half-rotten, bloodied, broken skull that made him want to scream — and then, like a divine light, the real vision broke through. Bright, keen,  _ intelligent  _ eyes. Whole. Unbroken. Glittering with awareness and magic and  _ memory,  _ cataloguing everything they saw and tucking it away for safekeeping... deep in that exquisite mind of his that was so far beyond Fjord’s own. The paladin felt his chest ache, like he had been punched, and swallowed to moisten his suddenly dry throat.

"Beau, be niiiice! Princess and Frumpkin are hiding in theeeeere!" Jester chirped, oblivious to the pair of eyes trained on them. 

The half-orc internalized a sigh of relief, easing back...

Suddenly, the stairs creaked, and her violet eyes snapped up. 

“Who the fuck?” Jester blurted, wrinkling her nose. 

Caleb’s startling blue eyes flicked up. 

Fjord froze. “Y— You’re back. I— Welcome back,” he murmured, clearing his throat and trying not to avoid their eyes. He tried to smile as he approached, filled with inexplicable nerves. “Hi.”

"Fjord?!" Jester half shouted, looking horribly confused. "Uh, what's going on? Why do you look like... that? Wait, are you undercover? Shit, did we need to be undercover too?! You should have told me sooner! What trouble did you get into that you’d be  _ undercover?!” _

Fjord opened his mouth. “What? I—“

He looked down, to see callused brown hands and delicate human fingernails. “Oh. Right. Um.” He hadn’t even realized he had cast Disguise Self.  _ Must have done it subconsciously on the stairs… shit... _

“Why are you disguised?” Caleb asked, confused.

“I just uh— you know. Human territory. Thought it would be more subtle to travel as a human and not a… big green half orc guy. You know.” Fjord shrugged, overcompensating a little.

Jester's frown deepened. "But… haven’t we traveled through here before?”"

“Yeah, apparently this is his thing now,” Beau muttered. “Super fuckin’ stealthy, captain.”

“Thanks, Beau.”

Jester sent Caleb a questioning look, sharing her concern silently with him. Their wizard’s brows furrowed, but he turned his eyes back to the paladin and said nothing. "Well, it is, um— it is good to see you safe and sound, Fjord!" Jester finally said, hiding her worry with a big smile as she ran up the stairs and gave him a hug. "Where are the others?"

As if on cue, more feet came gallumphing down the stairs. Jester couldn't help the smile that stretched across her face at the bright faces of Yasha and Caduceus. Her family was all together again,  _ safe _ . It was an  _ amazing _ feeling…. Okay, no, the Fjord thing still weirded her out, but she could corner him about that tomorrow. Right now, she wanted to  _ enjoy  _ this!

Fjord offered her a little half smile. “So, um-- How was your journey?”

Yasha wandered down to Caleb, who was still standing on the ground floor, eyes bright. “Can we see the tattoos?” she murmured, her soft, husky voice actually excited. “What did you get done?”

“Yes, I’d very much like to see that as well,” Caduceus hummed peacefully, lumbering up behind the rest of them.

Caleb gently fished his cats out from beneath his hood. “Well, ah... Right now, they are wrapped up with some ointment on them, to help them heal a little faster, ah… Here! Look at my cats instead.”

“Awwwww…” Yasha whispered. She tried to pet Princess.

The black kitten immediately hissed and tried to climb back up into Caleb’s hood. “Oh. Daddy’s girl, aren’t you?” Caleb crooned softly, petting her. “Yes, you are a good girl. You are a daddy’s girl…”

Beau stared at him flatly. “Please never say that ever again.”

“Why? I do not understand your animosity.”

“Oh my god, I cannot believe I  _ missed  _ you.”

“You missed me?”

“Shut uuuuup…” Beau groaned.

"The tattoos look awesoooome," Jester reassured. "He got one down his spine in Celestial, and then two spells on his arms! I filled in the gaps with some designs! I think they turned out  _ super _ badass.”

She yawned, shaking out her dark wet hair. "AH! I’m so  _ cold and tired!!  _ Can we get something to eat? Also, we really need to talk about our next plan I guess, although I would rather talk about the beautiful finger paintings Cayleb made the night before he woke up!”

Caleb frowned, still scratching his kitten. “I made finger paintings? What did I paint?”

Jester opened her mouth, faltered, and just smiled at him instead. "Oh! You used a lot of blue and green, and painted little figures. I think you were trying to draw me, maybe  _ Fjoooooord.” _

Fjord flushed faintly red, blinking with surprise. 

Meanwhile, Caleb frowned. “That is embarrassing… I imagine they weren’t very good if you could not tell whomst they were.”

Jester reached over and gave Princess a pat, cooing. "And then this little one walked through the paint and left little paw prints all over the paper! You were obsessed with that and kept giving her more paint!”

Caleb hummed thoughtfully, brows furrowed, but everyone knew him well enough to see the subtle playfulness in his eyes. “That does not sound like me.”

“You two were a  _ mess.” _

_ “That _ sounds like me.”

She leaned forward and kissed the side of his mouth. "It was  _ adorable,  _ Cayleb.”

Beau made a sound like she had choked on her tongue.

The blood drained from Fjord’s cheeks.

Caleb turned a bright pink and cleared his throat, looking down. Goodness  _ gracious,  _ he had certainly fallen in love with a woman who could not be subtle...

Jester picked up both their bags and turned back to the group. "So, where are our rooms?"

Yasha opened her mouth. “Uh.”

Beau threw her hands up. “Wait!  _ Hold  _ the fuck up,” she barked. She made gestures between the two of them. “What—  _ what?!  _ What— What is  _ this?!  _ When did  _ this _ happen?!”

"Yesterday!” Jester chirped.

Beau looked like she had been hit by a wagon. “Wha…?”

She stared at Caleb, who looked very uncomfortable and very pink in the face. “Uh… wow. Gotta admit, I didn’t really see that one coming! I thought you were always keying for, uh—“

Beau trailed off self-consciously as she looked around for Fjord. It took her a second to  _ recognize  _ him, jumping in shock. “Oh, shit, fuck. Fjord, why the hell are you still wearing that?”

Fjord hesitated, looking a little sick and slightly off balance as he dropped the disguise. “Well, shit, fuck me If you’re gonna make such a big deal about it…”

Jester immediately looked more comfortable, darting forward to give Fjord another hug. "Much better. I missed those tusks. And your  _ handsome _ face.”

Fjord didn’t look very happy, but he tried to smile. “Thanks, Jessie…”

She immediately glared over his shoulder at Beau. "And don't make this weird."

"I was not--!"

"Are toooooo," Jester countered, nose wrinkled. "Now can someone  _ please _ show me our rooms?!"

“Uh, yeah, we can go get some more rooms…”

Caduceus raised a hand. “I got it,” he lowed, wandering off towards the front desk.

Before she pulled back from Fjord, Jester managed to whisper something softly, only for him to hear.  _ "Talk to him." _

Fjord hesitated, pointedly looking at the ground and  _ not  _ Caleb. “But—“

She sent him a quick, meaningful look before turning her smile on the others. "Food! I demand food! What do they have here?”

“I mean, it’s the Empire, so they have some pretty dope sausages.”

“I’ve already been getting some  _ pretty dope Empire sausage,  _ if you know what I  _ mean,  _ huehuehue.”

“Oh my  _ god!”  _ Veth declared, following after them and looking up at the others. “They’re bad, you know! They’re  _ very  _ cute but they’re  _ very bad!  _ They are going to be an insufferable couple!”

“You love uuuuuuus.”

“Yes, I dooooo…”

“You know, um…” Yasha blushed a soft pink under her ivory skin. “Beau and I have some news for Caleb too…”

Jester gasped, remembering. “Oh yeah!! I’m super super  _ suuuuuper _ happy for you!! We’ll tell him later though. Right now he’s gotta talk to Fjord.”

“What about?” Yasha asked quietly.

“Ohh, you know.  _ Thiiiiings.” _

Fjord watched the girls wander off towards the bar… leaving him alone with Caleb. The wizard’s face nearly matched his hair, lips pressed into a thin line as he awkwardly petted his cats.

“So.”

“So. Ah…” Caleb hesitated, glanced towards the stairs, and nodded to himself, walking up to the second floor.

For a moment, Fjord considered not following. He considered leaving, maybe getting an ale at the tavern,  _ anything  _ other than going upstairs. He just felt sick and crestfallen. Why did he have to  _ feel _ this way? What were they supposed to  _ talk _ about? He hadn’t been  _ expecting  _ Caleb to come back with Jester in tow like _ this. _ They’d  _ fucked?  _ Gods, what was he  _ doing?  _ He had known Jester for longer than Caleb had, and he had just… let his opportunities slip away. He had had  _ so many!  _ And what did she  _ mean  _ ‘Talk to him?’ He had thought that he might ask Jester to dance, after this nonsense was over with. Get Caleb’s books back. Have them safe for him by the time they got back! But no, here he was -- Fjord Stone, captain extraordinaire -- with his thumb up his ass after  _ two days. _

“I can hear you thinking from here, Fjord,” Caleb called, still faintly flustered but demanding. The half orc glanced up, startled, to see their wizard hallway up the stairs. “Let’s go!”

“I-I, uh, right. Okay…”

Fjord jogged up the stairs, nearly tripping over one as he went.

Jester watched them go, perking up as they both vanished upstairs. She turned quickly, handing her things to Veth. "Nature calls, be right back! Get me some milk and some of those sausages!"

She darted away before anyone could stop her, grabbing her copper wire. She wanted to give Fjord  _ some  _ advice. Something to maybe give him confidence, or at least something to think about. And she needed to do that  _ before  _ they really started talking.

She tucked herself into the bathroom and cast her last spell of the night.

_ "You are very important to me, Fjord. And you are also very important to Cayleb! He's just shy. Just think about it? ...Love you!" _

Halfway up the stairs, a dark flush spread over Fjord’s cheeks. He faltered just before he reached the door -- half cracked, light spilling into a void of darkness -- and went still. He hesitated… then took a breath to brace himself and put a hand on the door.

_ “Yeah. Love you too, Jessie...” _

He could practically see the radiant smile across her happy blue lips. Fjord’s mouth quirked up, lopsided, uncertain, and hopelessly smitten.

The half orc pushed open the door.

Inside, Caleb was already at work. Fjord blinked in surprise, taking a step back instinctively to stay out of the way as Caleb moved feverishly, checking under the bed and upending the potted plant in the window. He watched the wizard pinch a dry, dead leaf, eye it critically, then nod and crush it in his palm. “That’ll do…” Caleb muttered, intelligence blazing in his eyes.

He didn’t look up at Fjord. “We need to talk.”

Fjord hadn’t moved from the doorframe. “Uh… yeah,” he muttered, quickly stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Look. You and Jester-- I’m happy for you. You don’t have to worry about me getting in the way.”

“That is not what I want to talk to you about,” Caleb informed him sternly, pulling a pebble out of the upended pot. He examined the stone and swore softly, tossing it over his shoulder.  __ It clattered to the floor.  _ “Scheisse…  _ Would you see if there is a mortar and pestle in Caduceus’s things? I need it.”

“Y-Yeah. Okay.” Fjord went to do as Caleb requested. 

He knelt down beside their cleric’s bag, starting to rummage through it… but he kept glancing back at Caleb. Their fiery wizard was manic with energy, eyes wild, every movement made with efficiency and purpose. It was easy to get distracted, watching the way that his long hair -- damp from the rain -- brushed against his slender shoulders. 

Fjord’s gaze flickered down to his arms, noticing that he was wearing something  _ new.  _ There were soft black gloves swaddling Caleb’s arms, all the way up past his bicep, the fingertips cut off so that he could still feel and touch. His purple Xhorhasian coat was nowhere to be seen, instead replaced with a heavy black brocade garment that buttoned tight at his waist. Embroidered with iridescent blue-violet thread, it shimmered subtly in the candlelight. The sleeves were long and open, cut and hemmed so that the copper clasps could be pulled open to leave his whole arm free; a few of them had popped open just from his rapid movements now, giving Fjord unintentional, stolen flashes of ivory skin above the long gloves. Four rings glittered on his fingers. One was ordinary, glass beads. One was a simple ring with a pearl set in the center. The third, on his middle finger, was a sculpted, solid piece of gleaming obsidian. The fourth was the most ungodly  _ gaudy, chunky  _ diamond ring that he had ever seen. Components? Maybe?

“Did you find it?” Caleb asked. He snapped his fingers, and a spark flashed in his collection of dirt and clay. Amber light simmered against his face.

Fjord startled slightly. “Yeah! Uh, here.”

He scooped up the stone mortar and pestle -- scented of peat moss and herbs -- and carried it over to Caleb. “What are you doing?” he asked, trying to peer over his shoulder.

“I am creating a new transmuter’s stone.” Caleb took the pestle from him and whacked a shard of the clay pot. It burst into smaller pieces. He sprinkled the pottery into the mortar and started to grind it into a fine powder. “The process has many, many steps. These are just the first ones.”

“Okay…”

Fjord stood there awkwardly for a moment. Finally, he sat down beside him, just watching. “So… what did you want to talk about if not-- Jester?”

“The plan.” Caleb licked his pinkie and touched the clay dust, rubbing it between his fingers. He shook his head and continued to grind it down. “You are our defacto leader, no?”

Fjord’s chest twinged with bittersweet pride. “You think so?”

Caleb finally looked up at him, frowning curiously. “Ja. You don’t?”

The half-orc shrugged one shoulder and looked down at the floor. Caleb’s frown carved deeper. “Fjord.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re slipping back into your fake accent.”

Fjord blinked rapidly. “Oh. Whoops. I--” he cleared his throat and consciously pulled himself back from that old shelter. “I--”

He coughed a laugh of disbelief. “I  _ actually  _ didn’t realize I was doing it…”

Caleb watched him, his manic fury of motion abruptly paused as he searched Fjord’s expression for… something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it. He returned his attention to his transmutation work.

“You’ve done well,” Caleb murmured.

Fjord snorted and shook his head. “Thanks.”

“I  _ mean  _ it. You have done well.” The wizard combed his hair back behind his ear, blue eyes focused and keen as he finished the clay dust and grabbed a bit of cloth. He spread it out, carefully shaking the brown dust out into it. “This was an immense task for an outsider. You have handled it with dignity and grace.”

Fjord fiddled with his fingers, trying to ignore his tough black nails and the green color of his own skin. “Outsider?”

“Yes,” Caleb murmured nonsensically. “You are not of Rexxentrum. You are not of the Empire, and yet you have managed to gain information and command a group of very strong-willed people to this point, all within a city that you have no emotional real estate in. You have done an extraordinary job. Above and beyond what anyone would have expected of you.”

Fjord bowed his head, smirking bitterly to himself. “What anyone would have  _ expected  _ of me, huh?”

Caleb paused.

He frowned and looked up at Fjord. His gaze flickered down to his captain’s hands, at the way Fjord seemed to be avoiding the sight of his own skin… then peered up into yellow eyes. Fjord didn’t notice for a few seconds, but when he did -- and their eyes met -- Caleb’s expression hardened, examining him. Something  _ was _ wrong.

Caleb sighed quietly, then beckoned Fjord over to him. “Come here. I want you to help me with something.”

Despite the sour taste in his mouth, Fjord shrugged and scooted closer. He wouldn’t admit it, but it was always a rare treasure to see Caleb at work. Their wizard was hesitant to let anyone peer over his shoulder, watch him so closely. Being in his vicinity during such a long process was like being allowed to follow a tiger as it hunted. It was being allowed to reside in his natural habitat.

Caleb licked his dry lips and gave Fjord room to sit. “This alchemical mixture will require blood in several places,” he told him. “Will you give me yours?”

Fjord stared at him. The bottom of his stomach dropped out, eyes wide, utterly taken aback by such an intimate request. “You… want to use my blood? To… make your stone?”

“Yes. It will likely end up being a mix of both of our blood, but…”

Caleb’s throat closed up subconsciously. He fell silent for a moment, took a deep breath, and stilled his slightly trembling hands. “Will you?”

“Will… will it work?” Fjord asked, uncertainty clouding his voice. “I don’t want to-- fuck up the process because you’re using--”

“Dirty blood?”

Fjord clamped his mouth shut.

Caleb stared him right in the eyes, his gaze powerful and erratic as fire itself. “Is that what you were going to say to me?” the wizard whispered. “Is that what clouds your mind now?”

“I-I--”

“Accent. Stop it.”

“Caleb--”

“Stop it,” Caleb ordered him in a voice like steel. “You will not doubt yourself. This--  _ This  _ blood…”

He grabbed Fjord’s arm. Sparks jumped from ivory skin to green skin --  _ literal  _ sparks, shed from the magic building in the air -- as the half-orc stayed perfectly still, heart pounding hard enough to hurt. Caleb laid a long, delicate-boned hand alongside the crook of Fjord’s arm. Showing him the visible  _ throb  _ of Fjord’s scarlet blood, pulsing in the thick veins that they  _ both  _ could see.

“This blood… is  _ you,” _ Caleb hissed. “This blood is what has enabled you to come so far. You must  _ not  _ be ashamed of it.”

Fjord clenched his jaw, casting his eyes up to the ceiling in an attempt to ward off tears. “How the  _ fuck--” _

“What?”

“How the  _ fuck  _ could you know this stuff just from fucking  _ looking  _ at me?”

“I am magic.” Caleb tapped the side of his head. “I know things.”

“No, no, this isn’t just… This isn’t just--  _ magic. _ It’s-- something else.  _ You’re  _ something else…” Fjord muttered, rubbing his jaw. “It’s… a little freaky sometimes.”

_ “I _ am a little freaky sometimes.”

“No, you’re…”

Caleb’s eyes snapped up. Fjord immediately looked down. 

“...I am what?”

“Just… I missed--” The half-orc made a gesture down at the mess of ingredients and transmutation magic. “You always take me by surprise. Sometimes I just… I wish I could compare, sometimes.”

Caleb frowned at him. “‘Compare?’ What do you mean ‘compare?’ You are incredible, Fjord.”

“That’s the thing though, I’m--!” 

Fjord rolled his eyes, shrugging in exasperation and rubbing his forehead. He still didn’t pull his arm out of Caleb’s grip. A small,  _ small  _ part of him hoped that the wizard might forget he was touching him, that he wouldn’t stop. “I wish I could surprise you. Sometimes. Just one time maybe, it would be  _ great.” _

“You surprise me.”

Fjord glared at him flatly.

Caleb nodded at him, meeting his gaze. “You do.”

“Name one fuckin’ time I’ve surprised you.”

“Ahhh…” Caleb thought about it for a moment. “There was… that time. When we saw the ocean for the first time as a group. Outside Nicodranas. You teleported to my side while I was chilling out in the water, and you scared the shit out of me.”

That actually pulled a tiny smirk out of Fjord. He remembered that. Still, he shook his head. “That’s not what I mean, though.”

“Well, what  _ do  _ you mean?”

“I mean…”

Fjord tried to wrack his brains for the  _ right goddamn words.  _ “Name one time that I’ve surprised you with my choices. Name one time that I’ve fuckin’...  _ succeeded, _ when you expected me to fail.”

Caleb’s fingers tightened on his arm. “Fjord, I have  _ never  _ expected failure from you.”

Fjord went still.

Hearing those words -- simple as they were, in that quiet, accented voice -- felt like nothing he had ever experienced before. His whole life, people had expected nothing but failure from him. Because of his blood or his heritage or his lack of wisdom. Success was the exception, not the  _ rule.  _ To hear just the opposite, coming from Caleb, an accomplished, _ intelligent,  _ powerful,  _ kind  _ person, each word was like a cannonball weighing in his gut. An encouraging ember burning and sparking at the base of his skull, consuming the rest of his brain as he listened. He barely heard what Caleb said next.

“In my eyes, there is no failure,” Caleb whispered to him, sapphire eyes impossibly intense, intent on Fjord’s shocked yellow-gold. “You  _ cannot  _ fail me. You simply cannot. It is  _ not  _ in your  _ power  _ to _ fail me.” _

“But… I couldn’t get your book.”

“That is not a failure.”

“It’s not a  _ success.” _

“Well…” Caleb murmured, thinking about it for a moment. A few seconds passed as he thought, then he met Fjord’s eyes again. “We are together now. Our family is whole again. And all of us together, we are  _ mighty,  _ no?”

Fjord sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered, looking down at Caleb’s hands. “Yeah.”

“It does not mean that you are not incredibly strong, Fjord. These people we are dealing with… the odds against you when you arrived, it was incredible that you’ve got what you did. Jester told me how upset you were, how  _ intent  _ you were on going to Rexxentrum, and reclaiming what was mine. I wholeheartedly believe that if you had had a few more days, you very likely would have succeeded, at a cost. You took a risk, doing this, and you did it for me.”

Fjord licked his dry lips, feeling his small tusks poking out. 

“...I  _ did  _ do it for you.”

He felt Caleb’s eyes on him.

The wizard’s fingers tightened on him.

As his own words lingered in the silence, Fjord realized how it sounded. His cheeks flushed a dusky green. He didn’t take it back. He just looked Caleb in the face. The glimmering light in Caleb’s eyes danced between hope, brilliance, sorrow, and madness… and it took his breath away.

Fjord swallowed, his lips and tongue dry as cotton. “So… if you still want my blood…” he murmured, “... you can have as much of it as you need. In-- any situation. Any time. For whatever reason.”

“And you can count on me to return the favor,” Caleb told him softly.

Fjord smiled weakly. “Always.”

Caleb returned the quiet smile, and nodded.

They locked eyes for a moment… then Fjord took a deep breath, a little dizzy from the electricity in the air, and summoned the Star Razor. The broadsword shimmered blue, reflecting off Caleb’s face. 

The wizard glanced down at it, eyes alight, and took Fjord’s hand. He laid that warm, callused, pale green palm against the blade.

“Let’s get to work.”

Caleb opened Fjord’s palm, right along the scar. Fjord never looked down, eyes locked helplessly -- _hopelessly_ \-- on their wizard's face, trusting him absolutely as his blood dripped over Caleb's hands... and a magical haze settled over his brain.

_**Always.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *singing* fjord and caleb sittin in a tree... B-L-O-O-D B-O-N-D-I-N-G.
> 
> these boys makin a baby together and they haven't even kissed yet........


	17. Blut Erzeugt Blut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of her mental breakdown - in front of the entire assembly of Locksmiths, no less - Emmeline seeks solitude. However, Leofric is not the type of man that suffers in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started classes at my local community college and i'm writing for a little creative volunteer group! updates will be a bit slower (as you've noticed lol) BUT I AM STILL ALIVEEEE! I LIIIIIIIVEEEE!
> 
> also, the title translates to "Blood Begets Blood" :)

Emmeline pulled her palm from her injured shoulder. It still came away red.

She sighed heavily and gave up putting pressure on the wound. Alone in the atrium of Fort Zandrazi, she returned her eyes to the teleportation circle etched into the floor. She pulled out her spellbook and special ink, and began to copy it; it only made sense to learn it, since she had the time now... 

For a while — a handful of peaceful minutes, as she took her time — the scratch of her quill was loud against the quiet drip of raindrops. The glowing mushrooms were her only company in the ruined entrance hall; even the thunder seemed to be fading away now.

Uneven footsteps clicked quietly, from down the hall. Emmeline spared a glance for the source.

Leofric emerged into the atrium, leaning heavily on his cane. His eyes were dark, locked on her.

_ -She whirled, a bolt of hissing, spitting fire searing past his face. She missed by an inch. Leofric stumbled back, arms thrown up in defense, eyes wide with panic. He wasn’t even burned… but he crouched there, breathing hard, staring at her in fear.- _

She immediately looked back down at her spellbook. “Es tut mir Leid.”  _ I’m sorry. _

Leofric’s scars itched. He didn’t scratch them.

“Es ist nicht deine Schuld,” he told her.  _ It’s not your fault.  _ “I saw the signs. I thought that pushing you through the panic might help you. I was wrong.”

Emmeline kept her eyes down, listening to his lopsided footfalls as he crossed the quiet room and — with a grunt of effort — sat down beside her. “That being said,” Leofric informed her sharply. “You fucked that last bit up.”

“I know.”

“‘Assembly, rebels, you’re all the same?’ That didn’t score points with  _ anyone.” _

“I  _ know,  _ I know…”

“Koss is in there doing damage control right now. He’s—” Leofric rolled his eyes. “Well, he’s  _ Koss.  _ He’s not the brightest torch in the cavern, but he’s persuasive as hell, so he’ll patch things up. It’s a good thing he likes you so much, or that could’ve been a disaster.”

“Yeah, I…” Emmeline faltered, and finally closed her book. “I know...”

Awkward silence weighed in the air.

Finally, Emmeline broke the silence, sighing and dropping her face back into her hands. “I was not aware I had a  _ reputation...” _ she mumbled. “A reputation that I have on the surface apparently, and I just made it  _ worse  _ among  _ these _ people…”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s mostly superstition. But people in the Empire  _ are _ superstitious,” Leofric told her honestly, his voice gruff. “Being a target of superstitious gossip does not a good spy make.”

“Why am I a target of superstitious gossip?” the woman demanded, opening her hands in disbelief. “I’ve never  _ done  _ anything to…  _ people!  _ I rarely ever  _ speak  _ with  _ people  _ at all. Not up on the surface, not  _ here…” _

“And therein lies the problem.” Leofric grunted softly -- bones aching -- leaning heavily against the stone wall and straightening his spine. “You’re a woman with money and power, and no one lived in that cursed house until you and your husband moved in. Barely anyone knows what you look like, or who you are, or what you are _ like. _ Rumors form in place of knowledge. They spread like weeds.”

“Is that my first lesson from you?” Emmeline deadpanned, raising a brow at him. “Rumors spread like weeds?”

“No. Your first lesson is to  _ be likeable.”  _ Leofric raised a brow right back at her. “And to have a voice in the community. Not just the Locksmiths, but the  _ public  _ community. For example, I am ‘Leon Sonnenblume,’ the old, crippled veteran who lives in a flower field and teaches young people swordplay basics in the afternoons, three days a week. The farmers know my face, and my name. I am a  _ friend _ to the community. Which is good. After all, if the Assembly comes to Blumenthal looking for spies,  _ who _ are the first people that unwitting villagers will point out?”

Emmeline groaned and let her head fall back. She knew where he was going with this. “People who are suspicious,” she admitted.

“And people don’t--”

“--Point out their  _ friends _ as suspicious. Yes, yes, I understand…” she replied softly, letting her eyes fall shut and her face fall forward. “I _ do.” _

She took a deep breath, running her fingers through short, dirty blonde hair. “I understand. I just… haven’t spoken to any true strangers for a long time. In fact, as of this afternoon,  _ you  _ were likely only the third or fourth stranger I’d spoken to in a decade.”

Leofric squinted at her. “Really? Why?”

“Because--”

Emmeline licked her dry, cracked lips, her head spinning. “There was a reason I didn’t leave my house much, and certainly not to talk to  _ strangers,” _ she told him, eyes fixed on the floor. Her scars ached, itching, like they were freshly healed; she rubbed the mark on her once-broken nose. “I know my house. I know the feet that walk there. People,  _ other  _ people… it’s what I have studied and what I  _ know  _ about mankind that makes me distrust them. There are far too many vicious members of mankind in the world… and one of the most insidious,  _ terrifying  _ things that  _ people  _ are capable of doing is opening their mouth and saying something -- with  _ conviction  _ \-- that is _ not true.” _

“You hide in your home because you’re frightened.”

Emmeline clenched her jaw, her stomach twisting. “I hid.  _ Past  _ tense,” she murmured sharply, meeting his eyes. “Not anymore. It doesn’t mean I’m not frightened anymore. I _ am.  _ Anxiety--”

She gestured at her belly, eyes bright with conviction. “It twists in my core like  _ snakes  _ even now. But… my anger is stronger than my fear now. My fear has not gone away, and I suspect it never will. It has grown too thick and too  _ sharp,  _ sprouted up from too deep, like brambles in me.  __ But I’m  _ finished  _ telling myself that I can do _ nothing.  _ I  _ can  _ do something. I can  _ help  _ the Empire by rooting out the evil at its core. If I can help the Locksmiths do that… perhaps the things I learned the hard way and the horrors I have experienced will have been worthwhile.”

Leofric was quiet for a moment. 

Three fingers shifted on his knee, the fire-scarred side of his face turning towards the fungi, barely feeling the chill of the air on damaged skin. “The things you’ve learned the hard way, hm…”

Emmeline’s eyes flickered over the warped, nearly melted skin… then she turned her head to gaze down into the mushrooms too. The soft blue-violet light washed over them both, illuminating the countless spores around them, spinning aimlessly like small, glowing planets in the underground air. She couldn’t help but watch them, basking in the silence of contemplation; at home, Aldric never appreciated moments of quiet, always needing to fill it with idle chatter when she just wanted to leave her mind empty for a time. Then he would sigh in exasperation. And she would apologize. She hated those sighs. The disappointment. The discomfort. The expectations that were so  _ low  _ and yet she couldn’t fulfill them.

“I don’t want to go home,” Emmeline told the air, quietly. “I want to do something that will change it all.”

Leofric was quiet for a moment… then nodded and shifted, reaching down to his waist. 

She pulled her skirts in, giving him room to move as he pulled a wineskin from his belt. He settled back against the wall with a grunt and offered it to her, eyes lowered. She accepted it.

Leofric nodded at the floor. “To changing it all.”

Emmeline smiled halfheartedly. She toasted him. “To changing it all.”

She took a big swallow of the rich, spiced wine and instantly coughed, trying to cover her mouth. “Oh _ gods, _ why is that  _ strong?” _ she croaked.

Leofric shrugged. “I am half-mourning one comrade and half-celebrating a new one. I spike my wine.”

“To each their own, I suppose…” Emmeline muttered.

He reached out for it. “If you don’t like it—“

Emmeline scowled and hugged it close to her chest. “No. I like it. I need it.”

Leofric snorted and dropped his hands, letting her drink as much as she wanted. For a few minutes, the silence was almost companionable, Emmeline taking quiet sighs between sips of wine. The old soldier just listened to the sounds of another person in the room, watching the glowing puffs of spores that drifted back down to the floor.

Finally, Leofric peered over at Emmeline. “How do you two know each other?” he asked. “You and Koss.”

“Mm.” She pulled the mouth of the wineskin down and wiped her lips. “I told you. I met him when I was seventeen.”

“No, I mean…  _ really.  _ How do you  _ know _ each other?” Leofric repeated. She just gave him a puzzled look; he sighed and tried to think of a better way to explain what he meant. “Koss is not… a recluse like  _ you, _ ja. But he’s a decently quiet guy,  _ except  _ when it comes to you. I probably know more about  _ you _ than I do about Koss himself. And yet  _ somehow _ I’ve never met you in person  _ once  _ before today, in the ten years I’ve been working with the Locksmiths. I’ve met Dharuun’s last four boyfriends and vetted Aaron’s ex-wife myself. And I have never met  _ you.” _

Emmeline huffed, plopping her cheek into her hand. “Oh, trust me,” she mumbled. “He didn’t introduce me, and he did it on purpose.”

“Why?”

“Because he apparently made a  _ promise _ to my  _ dearly departed brother  _ that he would keep me away from this place…” She rolled her eyes. “He’s always been protective.”

Leofric frowned, brows furrowed. “It’s… not a crime for a man to be protective of the woman he loves.”

Emmeline went still, eyes fixed ahead, her shoulders tense.

The old soldier hesitated, then sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “That was out of line.”

“No… I guess it’s fine.”

Despite her words, Emmeline took another big drink from the wineskin. Her wedding ring never felt colder than it did right now, like a shackle against her skin. She licked her dry lips, heart sinking slowly, eyes glazed over, as memories settled over her, cold and clinging and  _ messy... _ as if she had walked into a frozen lake with all of her clothes on. “It’s, ah… It’s a long story,” she told him, her voice quiet, but deliberate. “I’m not sure you want to hear the thing in its entirety…”

“I would not have  _ come _ if I didn’t,” Leofric told her, trying his best not to sound harsh. “It’s one thing to come in with baggage. We all come in with baggage.  _ Nobody _ has thrown a  _ fire bolt _ at a superior officer because of it.”

_ Fuck… _

“Yes, sir,” she mumbled. “That’s fair…”

She took a deep breath, and finally passed the wineskin back to him, interlacing her fingers and wrapping her arms over her knees. She hugged them tight to their chest, mouth resting on her skirt, dark eyes haunted… just trying to figure out a way to start.

Leofric waited, watching her as the minutes ticked by. Anger and worry simmered deep in his chest, his mind still flickering back to the moment that fire roared past his face, but he  _ knew _ that look in her eyes. He had seen it in countless new rebels. He had seen it in the mirror. Loss. Fury. Old sadness, and the shock that could linger for decades on end. 

Finally, Emmeline combed her hair away from her face — her skin sickly white — and began.

“Elias… He was more of a father to me than a brother. He practically raised me in all the ways that mattered.”

She chuckled softly, bittersweetly. “There were ten years between us. When I was six, he was sixteen. He was planned. I was not. Our father… Jonas, he was— not a kind man. He resented my mother for her quietness, her nerves, and her heart condition…” She shook her head. “She left when I was thirteen years old. She left me there, at the house, when she left.  _ Elias _ I can understand. He was a man of twenty-three, with friends and a business to tend to. I’m not sure why she didn’t even try to take  _ me _ with her, but— I suppose I will never get to ask her.”

Leofric watched her expression keenly. “She died? Or she just never came back?”

“Oh. Yes. Ah… heart failure. A few months later, I found out, living with a childhood friend. I went to visit her grave once… She’s buried in Berleben. Buried by friends. I guess that’s what’s important, really, that she spent her last moments with people who loved her.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Emmeline admitted, her expression more distant than anything. “In my later years, I’ve found myself empathizing with her more and more. I  _ remember _ her fondly. She taught me how to sew. Told me how to… submit to my husband. Love him as he deserves, even when it’s difficult… After all, it’s the task of the husband to provide and manage the business, and the wife does her best to manage the house and the servants. Have his children…”

Leofric’s eyes flickered uncertainly at the ground at that. It was a  _ very  _ old fashioned, high society way of thinking, even  _ startlingly _ so — not even in a good way — but he didn’t say anything, letting her continue uninterrupted. “I feel now how that life, those  _ mundane responsibilities  _ weigh on you,” she was saying. “I can’t  _ imagine _ what it would be like if my  _ heart _ did not even work properly…”

She bowed her head. “Anyway… I had always shown talents for the arcane, ever since I was a child. Father discouraged my reading, but Elias urged me to pursue my passions, so, I applied for the Soltryce Academy. I was rejected the first three times, but eventually, I got in. When I was sixteen. Father had a friend in the Mudtop district, through his business contacts, so I planned to move into a loft there, to live for school. And—“

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, something like regret shining in her eyes. “Around the same time, Elias and Father had a falling out. He had never been  _ passionate  _ about—” she chuckled, “— the  _ textile _ trade.”

She shrugged. “He left, to join me in the capital, to keep looking out for me, and Father disowned him. We both grew a year older in the squalor north of Castle Ungebroch. Elias joined the Crownsguard to make ends meet. I went to school. I got into my second year…”

Emmeline sighed and straightened up, resting her head against the wall. “Do you remember the day that the dragon passed over Wildemount?” she asked Leofric, her voice hushed.

The old soldier swore softly and nodded. “Ja… the town criers told everyone to get inside…” Leofric murmured, eyes glazed over. “A great white creature with wings that darkened the sun, they said...”

“Fangs and claws…”

“Terrifying.”

“More than terrifying…” Emmeline murmured. She rubbed at her eyes. “I was  _ sure _ it was coming for Rexxentrum when I heard the news. I felt bad for saying ‘thank the gods that it went for Draconia,’ but it didn’t stop me from saying it… At least until the refugees started flooding into Felderwin, Berleben, Zadash… and finally the capital.”

“First time I had ever seen a dragonborn was when a caravan of them was coming north,” Leofric remarked. “Bizarre experience.”

“Thankfully the ancient dragon was sorted out before the end of the year. Not sure who by… but either way.” Emmeline licked her dry lips and gazed up at the ceiling. “That was how we met Koss.”

“He fled the fall of Draconia?”

“He was  _ orphaned  _ by the fall of Draconia.” She drew a line across her eyes. “That scar on his face? He was looking through a gap in the wreckage, and the monster’s frost breath nearly destroyed his eyes.”

Leofric hissed sympathetically, rubbing at his own eyes. “Gods above and below…”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Emmeline mumbled, plopping her cheek into her hand with a sigh. “Honestly… I am not sure if I should be telling  _ you.  _ I guess he won’t mind…”

“If it comes up, I did not hear it from you,” Leofric told her, reassuring her.

Emmeline sighed. “Thank you…”

She gazed up at the ceiling. “Anyway… he arrived in Rexxentrum… and when most of his people spread out or moved on, he stayed,” she said softly, twisting her wedding band silently around her finger, her eyes warm and her blood buzzing with alcohol, with pleasant memories of an easier time. “He had nowhere else to go… and oh, he  _ loved  _ the  _ thunderstorms…  _ Blue dragons have lightning in their veins, as do the blue dragonborn…”

She remembered when she saw him for the very first time. A sharp, startling silhouette against a flash of lightning and the pouring rain, one late evening on her way home from classes. Just sitting on the roof of their building, like he hadn’t a care…

_ -“Lawmaker’s tits, man!” Emmeline yelled over to rain. “Get inside!” _

_ The mysterious dragonborn startled, perking up and looking around at the voice that had cut through the thunder. He craned his neck over the edge of the roof. His scales were a beautiful sapphire blue then, his eyes just barely beginning to recover from the white dragon’s breath; the scar was puffy and red, scales stripped down to nubs by the frost from months before. He was dressed in rags, with scars crisscrossing his back like the lashings of a whip. _

_ He peered down at the seventeen-year old girl holding a shawl over her head. He cocked his head curiously, and let out a soft clicking noise. _

_ The door banged open.  _

_ Elias came out, squinting through the downpour and holding a lantern. His soft blonde curls had relaxed since his youth, now — as a handsome man in his late twenties — allowed to grow, falling in thick waves just past his earlobes. “Emmie? What’s—? Oh, shit…” _

_ Both siblings stared up at the shadow looming over them. _

_ Koss clicked again curiously — rain trickling off him in torrents — and cocked his head the other way, his eyes unnervingly wide. Unblinking. _

_ Lightning  _ **_crashed_ ** _ behind him.- _

“We brought him in,” Emmeline murmured. “I was against it, ironically. He was… off-putting, back then. Still charismatic but almost…  _ alien.  _ He blinked once a week until I was able to  _ ask  _ him to do it more. Still, Elias insisted we make a little room.”

“Wait—” Leofric raised his hands; she paused, glancing over at his incredulous tone. “You  _ asked _ him to  _ blink? _ What— okay.”

He let his hands fall unceremoniously back into his lap, bewildered. “Ja. Sure.”

Emmeline smirked at the dumbfounded, resigned look on his face. “Don’t feel bad, Leo. The blinking thing—  _ that _ was  _ not _ normal.”

“And yet vomiting frogs was normal.”

She rolled her eyes bittersweetly. “Would you like to discuss the strangeness of different types of magic, which is something the greatest wizards have been writing theses about for centuries, or listen to my story?”

Leofric sighed. “Sorry.” He flapped a hand. “Go on.”

She raised a brow at him, but she didn’t have the good humor to nudge him or smile. Things that normally might have been easy to fake, but it _felt_ _fake_ to do those things right now. He wanted her story; she wouldn’t sugar coat it… as much as she could stand. Her eyes glassed over softly, fingers fiddling with the fabric of her skirt. “Anyway… So, he stayed with us for a while. Somewhere—“

Her face darkened.  _ “Somewhere _ along the way, it was during that time that they joined the rebellion. It had to be.”

Leofric’s brows furrowed at the look on her face. It wasn’t frustration, or sadness. It was…  _ anger,  _ maybe. Maybe nothing so simple. Maybe something much more complex.

What had she said back in the arena?  _ ‘Locksmiths, Assembly, you’re all the same. You just hurt people to get what you want.’ _

“Did—”

Leofric held his palms up in surrender when she eyed him. He closed his mouth. “I apologize,” he murmured. “I won’t interrupt again.”

“Well, no. Now you already have,” she sighed unhappily, plopping her cheek in her hand. “Ask your question.”

He hesitated, mouth pressed into a grim line, but he pushed forward. “Did the Locksmiths hurt you? Or your brother? Or Koss?” he asked, a dark look in his eyes.

Emmeline blinked. “What? I— No, not that I know of.”

“Then why did you say that so bitterly? That they  _ must have _ joined back then?”

Emmeline opened her hands helplessly, exasperation coloring her cheeks as she rolled her eyes. She pressed her back against the stone wall again, using its chill to ground her. “Because they didn’t  _ tell _ me,” she sighed. “They never  _ told _ me that they had joined the rebellion, or  _ why.  _ And I… gods, I know now that they didn’t tell me because of my  _ position.  _ I was a brilliant student at the Academy! I was a  _ brilliant _ student. I even  _ stayed longer  _ to write my thesis in magical theory. I was a teacher’s  _ assistant _ in the school of enchantments. Do you know how  _ long  _ and  _ hard  _ I worked to be able to reach that level of education? Originally, the plan was just… to find a noble household that would pay to have me as their resident mage. But I was  _ good  _ at magic! More than good! The Academy offered me a scholarship, a  _ promotion.” _

She bit back a soft swear, rubbing her forehead. “It is not the Locksmiths’ fault themselves that my chosen future was taken from me… but if  _ not _ for them…”

Finally, Emmeline sighed heavily and just threw up her hands, resigned. “It is complicated, Leo,” she told him. “The point is that they joined the rebellion. And… when I got together with Koss, I was nineteen. I was in love with my brother’s best friend, and against all odds, he liked me too.”

She smiled softly to herself, running her fingers through her hair. “We’d known each other for two years. He was  _ wonderful.  _ He taught me Draconic, we were  _ great _ friends, but our age gap… Koss was twenty-nine when I was nineteen. Elias exploded when Koss told him that he wished to pursue me, of course. Told Koss that he had  _ better be sure _ he wanted me… and of  _ course _ he said he did. So… he would meet me. Outside the Academy… every afternoon after my classes, he would come and greet me.  _ Привет любовь.  _ That’s what he would call when I came down the steps… it means  _ ‘Hello, love.’” _

Leofric felt his aching heart sink. He remembered that look… what it felt like to be in love.

He remembered soft red hair… and beautiful blue eyes. The hush of his wife’s voice when she whispered a bedtime story to their son. The breathless awe in his heart. Her sunflowers. The way that her hair would fall into her face. Her freckled cheeks and strong jaw. How, when she smiled, he would feel so full of love that he  _ ached _ with it.

What he wouldn’t give to see her smile again… and not have the final image of his wife be what he saw  _ every time _ he closed his eyes….

He summoned his cat, silent and brokenhearted, and let Emmeline continue.

“Then…”

The enchantress sighed, cold and distant. “I got pregnant.”

Leofric startled, glancing at her… and suddenly, all the cold, terrible pieces of the puzzle came together.

_ Oh gods… _

“I was twenty,” Emmeline murmured, her dark eyes focused on some point far in the distance. “I was still in school. I was…  _ terrified.  _ I was terrified that the staff would demote me, or that the Academy might interpret it as my priorities being in  _ other things.  _ I  _ couldn’t _ get rid of her. She was…”

She swallowed thickly, looking down. “She was perfect,” she whispered. “So… we worked together to get me a disguising ring, to hide the pregnancy while I was at school. She grew, and… when I was twenty-one, she was born. She was  _ healthy.  _ She was  _ perfect… _ with tiny blue scales on her cheeks, and pale golden curls… the smallest fangs you can imagine…  _ Pelor,  _ she  _ never _ cried. She was so  _ good _ for Koss, she was a  _ happy _ baby… and I always wished I could spend more time with her, but I was still at school. I was suddenly going to class, and Koss was looking after our child. It was…  _ strange  _ and  _ wonderful  _ and I was in love, doing what I loved, going home to my three favorite people in the  _ entire _ world… My life, my path? It was set. I had no doubts. I suspected nothing. I was riding  _ high.” _

There was a hot tickle against her cheek.

Emmeline wiped at her face, unceremoniously brushing away her tears. Tears never made a lick of difference in a cruel world.

“Somehow,” she stated — sharp and cold, “the government found out about Elias’s activities.”

Leofric closed his eyes instinctively, feeling the heavy pain and old, deep-seated  _ fury _ in her voice. “The Scourgers took him.”

“No.” 

Emmeline turned her head, fixing him with an icy look. “They did not know where  _ he _ was,” she told him quietly. “They came to question me, during the winter formal. Three  _ apprentices,  _ who had been students at the Academy. I told them, honestly, that I had no idea what they were talking about, and— I  _ admit _ that I was rude. They were just  _ children.  _ I thought they were just pulling a  _ prank _ on me… asking me about my brother’s whereabouts, who he had been  _ speaking  _ with? What else was I supposed to think? That three little  _ shit _ kids had that kind of authority? I didn’t  _ know.  _ They took offense to my rudeness… and… I’m sure that they were given some kind of order to take me into custody. They…”

Emmeline rubbed her throat. “They decided to be very cruel about it.”

_ \--In the shadows, a rope landed around her throat. Emmeline’s gasp was cut short as it pulled tight. Hooves clattered past her, and ripped her off her feet. The cobblestone might as well have been broken glass with the ease of which they broke her skin. No air. Panic. Pain. _

_ She caught the sight of blue eyes. Then her back slammed against a wall, and there was nothing.-- _

“One of them — a boy — threw a noose around my neck. Yanked me off my feet. Tied it to a horse’s saddlehorn and sent it running. I hit a wall hard enough to knock me unconscious. I heard them  _ laughing,  _ it was… one of the most  _ terrifying _ experiences of my life…”

Emmeline was deathly still now, eyes fixed on the soft glow of the mushrooms. “When I woke up, I was in a strange place. With the same three apprentices. I— I was a  _ teacher’s assistant. _ I was  _ twenty-one _ years old. I was... I was still in my winter formal dress…”

Pinned up hair. Chips of diamonds still shining in her blood-matted hair.

“It was a white dress.”

Soft, white, modest, beautiful fabric. Stained slowly and thoroughly, over weeks and months in captivity. With blood. And _ shit.  _ Some nights, she could still smell it.

“It was red and brown by the end of it all…”

Emmeline pulled in a shaky breath, letting her eyes close tightly. Her fingernails were digging into her skirt now. “They kept  _ asking  _ and  _ asking. _ I tried to escape once, and nearly succeeded. I set the two boys on each other with a spell, got nearly to the front door before  _ something  _ hit me. Maybe it was the girl, maybe someone else, I don’t know. But that’s the last thing I remember from that night. After that, I was hungry and desperate. I had told them everything I knew, and they just told me I was  _ lying  _ when I  _ wasn’t.  _ Breaking my bones and  _ burning _ my fingers and branding me until I smelled cooking flesh and poisoning my food didn’t help because I  _ did not know what they wanted me to tell them.  _ I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to see my little girl, I just wanted the nightmare to be over…”

_ \--A fist connected. Blood. Cracking, crunching cartilage. Raw, red blood rolling down the back of her throat. “Where are they hiding?” the boy snarled again. _

_ “Stop…! I don’t know anything!”-- _

“But… they did something I wasn’t expecting.”

_ \--“I just want to go  _ **_home!”_ ** _ \-- _

“They read my mind. They  _ went  _ to my  _ home.” _

Emmeline’s eyes were black ice. “My old home. My childhood home. The one that Elias had told me he’d  _ sold  _ over a year beforehand. I didn’t know that Koss… that  _ Koss _ and the  _ rebels _ had been using  _ our old house  _ as a base for over a year. I didn’t know that Koss had been bringing  _ our daughter  _ there. I didn’t know that he had made a  _ nursery  _ for her upstairs, and that everyone in their group  _ knew  _ her. Had held her, cradled her, played with her. Strangers _. Rebels.  _ Traitors to our  _ empire, _ people that I never got the chance to know. It was a horrible  _ coincidence  _ that I might think of my childhood home and that the rebels would  _ be there.  _ But they were. And the Scourgers  _ went out.” _

She looked away. “They came back with Koss. He was… not himself. Feebleminded, though I didn’t know it at the time. They put us in the same cell. Knew it would terrify me. I tried to ask Koss what had happened to our baby girl, but…  _ he _ couldn’t speak. Together, we listened to the sounds of the rebels being tortured and killed. We listened to the  _ chatter  _ of those young apprentices. Just...  _ making fun.  _ Professional  _ banter  _ around one another, with blood soaked hands and hooks and hot brands that they slipped one by one into living flesh. Weeks and  _ weeks  _ passed, and… I was nearly starved by that point. We both were, but neither of us wanted to call attention to ourselves. I fear I went a bit mad in those days.”

Emmeline smiled halfheartedly at her mentor. “The next time an apprentice came in, I  _ think _ I tried to take a bite out of her. It was a  _ little _ funny, to see the look on her face. Probably not worth the twice-broken nose, but still funny.”

Leofric just stared at her, eyes wide and his stomach twisting.

She cleared her throat, looking away, her voice almost robotic and disconnected —  _ too _ casual — as she continued. As if she were telling someone else’s story. “I demanded to see my baby. Loud and...  _ very  _ off-putting. I screamed it. Repeatedly. It disturbed them enough to send out a rider… and— the next thing I remember is them taking her little body away from me. She was cold. Very dead. I  _ remember _ her little face… the way her cheeks were drawn in… and how death had settled into her tiny fingers…”

Emmeline blinked slowly, disembodied. “It was either exposure or starvation that claimed her. The boy said he found her hidden in a closet, under some blankets. The only thing I can think of is… Koss’s mind was gone. He wanted to keep her safe, with the last  _ scrap _ of sanity he did. So… he did with her what any animal does with something precious. He hid her. And then they took him. And she was…  _ such  _ a good baby… She  _ never _ cried… so the Scourgers  _ didn’t find her…” _

Her throat closed up. 

“So… by the time she missed her daddy— a-and probably  _ began  _ to cry… there was no one close enough to hear her.”

Emmeline covered her eyes as more tears spilled over — hot as blood — almost wishing she could burn out her  _ psyche _ to be rid of the memory. “Fuck—  _ fuck— Leofric,  _ she was  _ six months old… _ ” she croaked. “She could make it through the night without f-food, but she was so  _ hungry _ for breakfast every morning… H-How long… How  _ long  _ did she  _ cry?  _ How long did she—? H-How  _ long _ did sh-she… lay th-there… i-in the dark… and sob and  _ wonder _ and  _ scream  _ and think ‘Where is my mama?’ ‘Wh-where is my papa…?’ Were—! W-Were— were  _ those _ her last thoughts? O-or were they  _ ‘I’m so cold…?’” _

Leofric reached over wordlessly, his heart split in two, and — there, sitting against a cold stone wall — pulled her silently into his shoulder.

Emmeline had no strength to resist. She did her best to suffocate those raw, dark sobs that tore free of her chest. A hand clamped over her nose and mouth, she  _ tried  _ to retain some form of composure and failed  _ miserably,  _ hoping beyond hope that the earth would just open and  _ swallow  _ her rather than push through one more second of time. Despair had a taste.  _ Salt.  _ Like sweat, like tears, like the blood that seeped between her teeth from biting into her cheek. Ugly, red-faced, heartbroken  _ sobbing, _ muscles clenching so hard that she nearly retched in his grip. She refused to cling to him, refused to look at him. It was  _ not _ cathartic to cry, not for her and  _ not  _ for those thoughts that plagued her waking moments.  _ Tears _ did not help. They were just a sign of her helplessness… and showing them to a stranger was  _ fucking embarrassing. This  _ was  _ fucking embarrassing.  _ Letting her seventeen-year-old trauma rip her open in front of a stranger was  _ fucking embarrassing.  _ But she could do nothing but sob,  _ furious  _ and  _ humiliated, _ as a rough soldier’s hand gently cradled the back of her neck.

They were there for nearly an hour longer, her muffled cries bouncing off the broken, dripping walls of Zandrazi.

But — finally — after what felt like an eternity, Emmeline snuffled thickly and pushed herself quietly away.

Leofric allowed her to shrug his arm off. He did not look at her; he just pulled a kerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. Thankfully, she took it, crumpling it into her palm and wiping at her face. Silence, cold and uncomfortable, settled over the buried atrium.

Leofric stayed where he was for a long while, gazing down at a crack in the stonework. He felt like he had just been privy to a story that hurt in a manner of the supernatural, as if retelling it stole away some portion of Emmeline’s life. It had taken a lot out of her. That much he could see. So when she spoke again, it surprised him.

“The boy took her body from me,” Emmeline murmured, her voice almost disembodied once more as she wiped at her puffy eyes. “I never saw her again.”

Leofric folded his arms, eyes down, giving her space as she — at long last — drew to the end of her story with short, clipped sentences. “The commander of the volstruckers released us. Probably figured we were two sad, innocent bastards that had nothing to do but die. They did…  _ something  _ to my memory. Made the experience hazy… but that was not something a young parent forgets. I blamed Koss, even though I knew he had nothing to do with it. I went home. They had torn my brother into pieces and left him to bleed out in the snow. They had carved the Locksmith’s symbol into his flesh. The open shackle. The bodies had been out there for nearly three months at that point… and the villagers had seen. Spread rumors. They called my house the Bloody Estate. I had to get away, so I did.”

She sighed, rubbing her forehead in exhaustion. “I spent years…  _ traveling.  _ Honing my skills in magic. Losing myself to it. I gained knowledge, but I lost my sense of self. Who  _ knows _ what might have happened if I hadn’t met Aldric— but that’s another story,” she murmured. She dropped her hand, forcing herself through the last few dull sentences. “I married Aldric. Found it in myself to go home and face my ghosts. He bought the house for me, as a gift, even though it would cost more to repair it than to buy it. By then, the bodies were gone… buried by one of those volstrucker  _ fetuses,  _ or burned. At least I could visit my mother’s grave in Berleben. But I have no idea where my brother and my baby are buried… and I’m not sure if knowing would make it feel any better. I went back to the Academy under another name. An adult student. Ascended through the tiers of education  _ extremely  _ quickly, considering I knew it all already, as Baroness Emelia Schulze. Perhaps a little  _ too _ quickly.

“I caught the attention of the Headmaster, and the archmage of Civic Influence… which was when I  _ realized _ that  _ Archmage Trent Ikithon _ was the man who had authorized my torment. I had assisted in his  _ classes  _ before  _ his students _ stole me and tortured me. I wanted to hurt him, but I couldn’t. He’s the  _ Archmage of Civic Influence.  _ So I did the only thing I could; I put my head down, finished school, and  _ retired.  _ It’s…”

She sighed deeply, rubbing at her aching face, her stinging eyes. Her  _ skin _ hurt. “For the longest time, it was nearly impossible to sleep at night, remembering those faces… knowing that those  _ devils _ were somewhere out there in the world, killing children and torturing innocents. I was convinced I could do nothing about it, so I put my head in the sand. I wrote essays. I wrote books. I  _ read _ books. I sewed. I managed the house. I functioned. But then… only recently…”

_ -Emmeline kicked his immobile, twitching body down and straddled him. She grabbed her mace with both hands, raised it overhead, and brought it down.- _

“I found one of the boys that tortured me. The one that liked to burn me. And I  _ put him down.  _ With my brother’s own mace.”

_ -Every separate blow was meant to kill. She didn’t stop hitting him. She wasn’t sure that she could.- _

Emmeline chewed on the bloody inside of her cheek, trying to focus on the pain and not the memory of Bren Widogast’s brains spattering against the volcanic rock. “He was scared. Confused. Until he realized who I was. Then he was just scared, and  _ gods,  _ it was grisly and horrible but it felt  _ fucking good…” _ she whispered. “I wasn’t helpless anymore. I walked into the house of the second apprentice. Used my skills and my spells and a bit of luck to gain the upper hand…”

Leofric glanced down at her hands as she reached into her intricate component pouch, pulling something out. He could barely see it in the dim blue light… but then she opened her palm fully, and he saw a thin lock of dirty blonde hair, held together with a length of black thread. Something about it sent a chill down his spine.

“Killing her won’t be as simple,” Emmeline whispered, her voice dangerously cold and steady. “She is a member of Ikithon’s inner circle. Her house was on the  _ grounds _ of his tower. With this—“

She held the lock of hair between two delicate fingers, eyes locked on it with razor focus. “With this… I could kill her from across the  _ continent _ in as little as six days if I wanted to… And she doesn’t even  _ remember  _ that I  _ took it.  _ However, that’s far too easy. I have better plans.  _ Slower _ plans for the other two. I just need to find the last boy… but he will be harder to reach. He is stationed at the Vergesson Sanitorium, wherever  _ that _ is. I’ll find him. Learn more about him. Make sure he wishes that he was never born… or if it suits me, I’ll use him to get to his master.”

“And…” Leofric murmured, feeling increasingly uneasy in the presence of an agitated mage. “What role do the Locksmiths play in your vengeance?”

Emmeline paused… then sighed and tucked the lock of Astrid’s hair back into her pockets. “None.”

_ “None?”  _ he repeated in disbelief. “As  _ smart _ as you are, we have  _ no role  _ in your plan? I find that hard to believe.”

“You have no emotional real estate in my vengeance that matters,” Emmeline told him calmly, icy black eyes meeting blue. “Koss does, but I don’t want to get him tangled up in all this again. Maybe I did initially when I came to him, but he seems to have a good life here. Friends. He seems to be as alright as a man can be after something like that… and yes, certainly, my resources and magic are the Locksmiths’ to use. Whatever you need me for, if it’s not suicidal, I will comply. I’m not insane. Killing three people — even killing Ikithon — is not a long-term solution to the corruption in the Dwendalian Empire. It must be  _ surgically _ cut out. And you  _ need _ me for that—“

“I’ll have to consult Lady Quana.”

Emmeline faltered, brows furrowed. “I— what?”

“I’m sorry, I…” Leofric sighed heavily and ran a hand over his short-cropped silver hair. “This was far more than I expected from you.”

“I  _ passed _ your initiation.”

“That initiation was  _ given _ before I knew that your side occupation was so entwined in the  _ murder _ of government officials!” Leofric insisted, meeting her gaze firmly. “I can’t promise a place among us with vengeance so forward in your mind. I’m sorry.”

Emmeline searched his face, lips parted and eyes dark with anger… then she coughed a laugh, incredulous. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not. I’m sorry.”

Leofric met her eyes with a deep, aching unhappiness. “I understand your pain,” the old soldier murmured. “I  _ do.  _ You are not the only one who has lost a child to the Empire… but you  _ have  _ to understand. You are not the only person that your agenda effects, and I cannot accept your motives  _ blindly _ in good conscience. I have to look out for my people.”

Emmeline just stared at him, her gaze full and flat.

A heavy moment of tension passed… but finally, the enchantress sighed heavily and rested her head in her hands. After all that — opening that box again,  _ remembering _ her short time as a mother, confessing because he had  _ told _ her to, in  _ good faith  _ — and he was all but rescinding his personal trust. What did she think was going to happen. What else could she have expected from a  _ stranger.  _ It was almost funny. Emmeline straightened her spine, hyper aware of her puffy red eyes, and was about to excuse herself when Leofric continued. 

“If it makes you feel better, I do not think she will send you away.”

She frowned, exasperated, but sighed tiredly and listened nonetheless. Her eyes itched. She was  _ so exhausted.  _ “You think?”

Leofric looked almost as tired as she did, rubbing his forehead and closing his eyes. “If you were some… ordinary Joe, we could drop you in the middle of a field and you would never find us again. But you are  _ not _ that. I do not think she will risk allowing you to leave our ranks… not when you know where our base is and you know how to get here. Not to mention… I did not admit it before, but we are desperate. The city is at a boiling point and we cannot let a powerful mage slip from our ranks, even if you are worryingly unstable. In for a copper, in for a gold.”

“Gee, thanks…” Emmeline mumbled, her voice muffled through her hands. “Gods, I am so  _ tired…” _

“Go home. Get some sleep. Think up a good reason for your husband why you have been away.”

“I will do that…” 

She made no move to get up. Her head felt even heavier than her heart, like an iron weight dragging her slender neck down. If undisturbed, she might have gone to sleep right there. “Leofric?” she mumbled.

“Yes?” he grumbled, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“May I ask you a personal question?”

Leofric just grunted, waving listlessly for her to continue.

“Son? Or daughter?” Emmeline asked softly, resting her chin on her knees, staring sleepily at the far wall.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Leofric go still… but only for a moment, his shoulders heavy with loneliness and regret. “A son.”

“How old?”

“If he is alive, he would be... a few years younger than you now.”

Emmeline raised her head, brows furrowed.  _ If?  _ What did he mean  _ if?  _

She was about to open her mouth to ask, when Leofric turned to meet her puzzled black eyes. “What was her name?” he asked quietly.

Any questions that Emmeline might have asked were lost instantly. She went silent, her stomach twisting. It was certainly an easier question to answer. When she had chosen her married name, she had chosen it as her middle name… so that, in everything she wrote and signed, her daughter could stay close to her heart.

“Petra…” Emmeline whispered.

Leofric nodded quietly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “...Bren.”

The name was like a shotgun blast in the silence.

Emmeline was instantly wide awake, cold dread sinking low in her stomach.  _ No… _

She slowly rose her head, eyes round as tea saucers as she took a second,  _ real look  _ at Leofric Ermendrud. The bone structure. The startling blue eyes. They were worn by time, obscured by wrinkles... but they were  _ similar. Eerily  _ similar.

_ It  _ **_has_ ** _ to be a coincidence. _

_ It  _ **_has_ ** _ to be. _

Emmeline tore her eyes away, fixing them on the stone floor just as Leofric looked her way. Her shaking fingers tangled in her necklace, gripping and rolling Bren Widogast’s transmutation stone between them. What kind of an  _ absurd, disgusting  _ twist of fate was this? No. No, her instincts  _ had  _ to be wrong. She was being paranoid. Strong bone structure was common in the Empire. Blue eyes were common in the Empire. The name  _ Bren  _ was common in the Empire. It meant ‘prince.’ Of  _ course _ it was a popular name for boys! And men aged in their early thirties? Well, there was certainly no shortage of  _ those  _ in the Empire. It  _ was  _ a coincidence. It had to be.

Taking a slow, shaky breath, she managed to calm herself down, just enough to stand. “I… I think I need to go home now...” she whispered. “Good night, Mister Ermendrud.”

“Good night, Lady Schulze.”

The enchantress stepped into the teleportation circle and vanished, not looking back once. 

Leofric, however, stayed where he was, silently relieved that she had left the subject where she had. A father could only stand so much talk of dead children...

…

Emmeline’s journey home was numbed. She transformed into a sparrow once more. Wind sang hollowly between her feathers, and her intelligence stirred — repressed by the limitations of her tiny brain — far beneath the surface as she fluttered over the twists and turns of the country roads… 

All the way home.  _ Home.  _

The house that Petra had died in. The grounds where Elias had breathed his last. After all these years, even through the senses of a small woodland creature, Emmeline might have felt unease as snow began to fall. But she  _ knew _ the ghosts of this place. The site of her greatest trauma was also the only place she could ever call home.

The moon was well past its zenith when she perched on the windowsill of the master bedroom, her unremarkable brown tail feathers flicking three stories above the ground. She pecked and prodded at the latch; it came undone. With a flutter and a chirp, she slipped inside.

There was a soft  _ poof  _ of displaced air, and Emmeline’s delicate human fingers gently closed the window.

She turned her eyes onto the figure of her husband, laying in bed. He was striking in the moonlight, his long salt-and-pepper hair a mess around the pillow, his chest rising and falling in deep,  _ deep _ sleep. 

Something inside Emmeline — which had been knotted up all day — relaxed when she saw him asleep. They would have a blowout argument in the morning, but… for now, she could just pretend that everything was alright. Except for one thing. One word.

_ Bren. _

_ -“Tell me their names.” _

_ “E—“ _

_ “Go on.” _

_ Astrid looked nauseous, her hands still drawing glyphs in the air, as if moving separately from her own mind. “Eodwulf. And Bren.” _

_ “Where are they now?” Emmeline asked, thumbing through her spellbook. _

_ “Eo— E-Eodwulf… is… stationed at the… Vergesson Sanatorium. Bren…” the woman visibly swallowed down a lump of bile, brows furrowed. “Bren goes by a different name now.” _

_ Emmeline paused. _

_ She glanced up. “Red hair?” she murmured. “Blue eyes?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ She gazed down at her spellbook, at the newly transcribed Widogast’s Web of Fire. “I see…” Emmeline whispered to herself. “I understand he disappeared a while ago. A long while ago. What became of him?” _

_ “He… did not graduate.” _

_ She glanced up. “Why?” _

_ “He… didn’t have the strength of mind… Not like we did.” _

_ Emmeline’s black eyes went from confused... to ice cold. “What did you do to graduate?” she whispered. “What did you and your friend Eodwulf do, to get those tattoos and spread your wings as a fully fledged volstrucker, Miss Astrid? What broke Mr. Bren so thoroughly that he disappeared for sixteen years…?” _

_ Astrid had gone a sickly pale. “I don’t see how that’s relevant. I— My head hurts, ma’am…” _

_ “Tell. Me.” _

_ The volstrucker was silent, on her knees, still working on her spell and looking like she was about to throw up… then, finally, she opened her mouth. “We… we killed our parents,” she whispered. _

_ Emmeline’s blood went cold. _

_ She didn’t say a word, listening, a hollow ringing in her ears as Astrid continued. “We each met with our mentor, alone, to figure out what felt best. I wanted to… poison them. Let it be bloodless. Eodwulf… W-We don’t know what Eodwulf did exactly, but Master Ikithon had been encouraging more and more violence in him, so he went inside and did it with his hands. Bren… he’s always been a pyromaniac. He said it would leave the least evidence. He was the most sure about it of all of us, but when the screaming started, he tried to run inside. We held him back, but…” _

_ Astrid rubbed at the burn scars across her neck. “He lashed out.”- _

Emmeline raised her hands, shutting down her spinning mind. “It has to be a coincidence,” she whispered softly to herself.  _ “It  _ **_has_ ** _ to be.” _

With that, she tucked all those dark thoughts away for the morning, unbuckling her special belt and component pouch and laying it on the dresser. Off came the dress. The petticoat. The shift. Wrinkled by rain and stained by mud and blood, she winced and she pulled her stiff shoulder free. Her wound still hurt…

She went to go take her second bath of the day.

By the time she returned to her bed, it was nearly three hours past midnight. She pulled on her nightgown and crawled into bed.  _ It has to be a coincidence… _

_ -Bone and brains splattered across the ground. Far above them, the moon watched; her only witness that single, baleful silver eye. _

_ Thud. Crack. Crunch.  _ **_Splat._ ** _ - _

Emmeline flinched. She swallowed the lump in her throat, exhausted beyond description… and yet, sleep eluded her as she stared up at the ceiling. Her fingers subconsciously found the charm she had stolen off of Bren’s body, focusing on the soft, metallic, singing clicks of the amulet running back and forth across its chain.

He had been  _ someone’s  _ son. Even if he wasn’t Leofric’s son, he had been  _ someone’s  _ child.

Gods… She hated the idea of it. She hated the idea that Bren Widogast had ever been anything more than a monster. She  _ hated  _ to picture that cold-eyed,  _ cruel  _ boy in her memories as something small and chubby-cheeked and adored. Loved by parents that he would one day burn to ashes in their own home.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what Archmage Trent Ikithon  _ was.  _ A powerful enchanter. A manipulator. By the very nature of their school of magic, all those who specialized in enchantment were inherently tuned into ways to manipulate minds and emotions, whether it be magically or otherwise. Children were innocent, yet cruel. Malleable, yet stubborn. Shaping a child’s mind and emotional responses was… well…  _ child’s play.  _ Especially for a powerful mage like Ikithon. Sculpting young men and women into serving the empire through cruelty, with a carrot of patriotism and a stick of punishment against their backs. It was more than doable. For an evil creature like Ikithon, it would be downright  _ tempting  _ to try. To see how far he could  _ push them _ before they broke.

And Bren had broken.

Then, seventeen years later, a woman blinded by anger and trauma had broken his skull on an island so far from the empire he was sure to _ still love. _

Emmeline closed her eyes… and sighed, guilt weighing at her chest.

She got up again.

Padding across the floor, the enchantress rooted quietly into her component pouch. She extracted a small pouch, and carefully poured a palmful of fine white sand into her palm; she dipped her fingertip into a tiny jar of ink and dabbed black on the inside of her wrist, whispering a soft string of arcane words. Finally, she laid a small, bright red robin’s feather atop the glowing white hill of fine sand, and returned to her bed.

Emmeline sat down on the edge of bed, exhaling shakily… and finally, she thrust her enchantment forward, the sand levitating in a hazy, dull cloud of ethereal light around the spinning feather. Through the night sky, across dozens of miles, the bright thread of her spell was drawn through the clouds, drawn by her target…

_ “Jester Lavorre,”  _ she whispered, and cast Dream.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *magical finger wiggles* it's happeninggggggg


	18. In Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emmeline makes her next two moves... with varying degrees of success.

In the deep, black cotton swaddle of her dreams, Jester felt her brain stretch like a piece of chewed bubblegum. Her dream before — something shapeless and half formed, green and ivory hands caressing her skin — froze in the back of her skull, shivered, and swirled, spinning and coalescing like cream stirred into coffee, into one image far too realized to be imagined.

She was still in the clothes she had gone to sleep in, sitting before a green bonfire. It snapped and crackled; not harmlessly, but not malicious either. A black, starless sky stretched overhead, not a single trace of light reaching her from the oppressive void. There were no creaking of crickets. No chirping of birds. No fireworks in the distance, no music, no people. But if she listened hard, she could hear the rustle of trees and grass. Just barely, she could make out the shape of a softly glowing volcano in the distance. Jester had never described a dream as wary before… but if she could, this would be it. It felt like a dream balanced at the very edge of nightmare, uncanny and silent, razor sharp in its clarity, but not scary. Not yet.

Rumblecusp. But moonless, lonely, dark, and different.

Suddenly, she wasn’t alone.

Jester whipped her head around, eyes wide.

Emmeline Becker was sitting beside her, black eyes glimmering with dark intensity as she stared into the green firelight. She was wearing a soft, dark crimson nightgown, silk tied with satin. Her hair was tousled, her eyes sleepless, and she looked a little sick.

The enchantress glanced sidelong at Jester. Watching her.

Jester opened her mouth, gaping like an angry fish… then snapped her jaw closed and peered around. “Where am I?”

“It’s just an enchantment…” Emmeline shrugged quietly and looked down, cleaning nonexistent dirt out from under her nails. “Rest assured I will not take more of your time than I need to.”

Jester squinted at her, suspicious. “Ooookayyy…?”

Emmeline was quiet for a long moment… then turned to look at the blue tiefling, the green firelight dancing on the side of her face. “I’m sorry,” she murmured honestly. 

Jester blinked in surprise.

The enchantress took a deep breath and pushed forward. “Even if you  _ are  _ trying to trick me with the offer to resurrect my brother, that’s your business, and it’s a matter aside from this one. There were better ways to go about what I did on Rumblecusp. I made assumptions. I improvised. Badly. I hurt you, it was a mess, and I wish I had done it… cleaner. Quieter. More merciful, or… maybe more informed. What I did was cruel.”

Emmeline rubbed at her sore, sleepless eyes. “I was cruel. To  _ you _ for killing someone you trusted, and to  _ him, _ for intentionally causing pain and terror. I’ve never thought of myself as cruel, but… I suppose everyone becomes cruel when they’re angry. I wish I had been better than that. I wish that I had had the foresight to recognize that… he was someone’s son, at one time. Which…”

She let go of a breath she was holding. “Leads me to my point.”

Jester frowned uncertainly, still eyeing her with suspicion. 

Emmeline brushed her bangs out of her dark eyes, glancing over at Jester. “You may not know,” she muttered. “In fact, it’s a reach to even ask you. But do you know the name of Bren—  _ Caleb’s _ father?”

Jester’s lips shaped into a tiny o of confusion, eyes narrowed into slits.  _ What?  _

“Uhhh…  _ why?” _

“I’m… doing research into the scourgers,” Emmeline murmured. It was a believable enough lie. “The matter came up.”

“Well, I don’t really see why that is your business!” Jester huffed, making a point to look away from her, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “He doesn’t like to talk about it with his friends, let alone  _ strangers.” _

Emmeline blinked… then her eyes narrowed.  _ “‘Doesn’t?’”  _ she repeated.

“U-Uh…  _ didn’t.  _ Didn’t… I’m, um…”

Jester tried to make her expression as sad as possible. “I, um… I miss him,” she mumbled. “I’m just, you know… coping by using present tense. Yeah.”

Emmeline narrowed her eyes at the young woman distrustingly, trying to analyze her expression… but she was so tired. She just mumbled something unintelligible and rubbed her forehead. Jester might be a  _ weird  _ girl, but everyone had their coping mechanisms. Gods knew that  _ Emmeline  _ couldn’t make excuses. “Fine… Just… Can you answer the question, please? I need to know.”

“What kind of research are you doing that you have to know his  _ dad’s _ name?” Jester demanded, drawing out her words, showing off her tongue and fangs. “What? Are you doing some kind of creepy voodoooooo or something?”

Emmeline wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What? No!”

“You’re totally doing blood magic.”

“That’s disgusting,” the enchantress snapped. “First of all, ‘voodoo’ is a derogatory word for what I do. What I do is a learned magical practice, and deserves respect! Especially from people like  _ you, _ who don’t appreciate the  _ time  _ and  _ effort  _ it takes to learn magic.”

“People like  _ me?” _ Jester demanded, squinting. “What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”

“Clerics, warlocks, paladins, bards-- hell, sorcerers too!” Emmeline exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. She stood up, glaring down at Jester and propping her hands on her hips. “Your gods and your charisma  _ bless you _ with magic that takes educated people decades to learn! And you barely appreciate it for what it is!”

“I so  _ do  _ appreciate it!!” Jester spat back, standing up too. She puffed up, folding her arms and scowling at the enchantress. “Maybe if the Traveler  _ liked you more  _ he would have given you a little power. Like me.”

“I don’t want power from that magnanimous _ blowhard.” _

“He is  _ not  _ a blowhard!!”

_ “Don’t _ call my magic voodoo.”

“I’ll call your magic whatever I want!! Voodoo voodoo voodoo  _ bleughhhhhhhh.” _ Jester stuck out her tongue, tail flicking around angrily.

Emmeline’s eye twitched, her pride stinging. “I think we’re done here.”

She raised her hand.

“W-wait wait wait!!” Jester yelped, flailing her hands. “I got one more thing to say! You’re really gonna want to hear this! Pretty please?”

Emmeline paused -- fingers poised to snap -- and eyed her. “Ja?”

The tiefling flipped her the bird.

The enchantress sneered, snapped her fingers, and everything went black.

...

Jester jumped awake, staring up the ceiling of her room at the Camarouth Cottage. She growled and wriggled around in silent rage, her fists and heels pounding softly against the linens. “Voodoo bitch… bitch bitch bitch,  _ fucking bitch…”  _ she hissed under her breath. “I so  _ do  _ appreciate my magic! Don’t have to spend years and years and years studying some stupid  _ glyphs _ to be able to do it _ either...  _ bitch.”

She mumbled angrily, rolled herself up in a thick burrito of blankets, and tried to go back to sleep.

…

Emmeline opened her eyes, the sand in her palm re-coalescing as the Dream spell faded. She couldn’t help but bare her teeth and clench her free fist. 

“Naive, stupid,  _ disrespectful  _ little…!”

She forced herself to stop, take a deep breath, relax her shoulders, and let it go. Jester Lavorre was not a  _ rational  _ person. That much could be derived from her choice in gods. It was just proof that Emmeline was still unstable, that she would get distracted and angered so easily.  _ I practically wasted a spell trying to communicate with that oversized pixie. I have to stop reaching out to her. Just… leave it as is. I don’t have to try and make friends with these people, even if I  _ **_could._ ** _ She’s resurrecting my brother in two days in exchange for her sweetheart’s book. That’s  _ **_all_ ** _ our relationship has to be. _

Emmeline waited a few minutes, sitting there in the pitch black, waiting for her heart rate to go back down. She needed to be calm -- ice cold -- before she resumed her work.

There was another Dream she needed to send… and this one had higher stakes.

She exhaled slowly and reached into her component pouch. Her fingers tangled in a lock of soft, dirty blonde hair.

Emmeline let her eyelids drift closed again, black irises swelling to fill her sclera, until her eyes were soft, glittering pools of black. She secured her hold on the enchantment, using her knowledge of spell structure to delve deep into its construction and set up a simple safeguard -- a trigger -- in case the scourger disobeyed her. Just because someone was a victim of Ikithon did  _ not  _ mean that they weren’t an enemy. The line was blurred there. Choosing the wrong side of that line could result in devastating consequences. Consequences that Emmeline did  _ not  _ intend to suffer.

_ “Astrid.” _

…

Astrid felt her mind twist… and she inhaled sharply, eyes flying open.

Instinctively, in a split second, she took an inventory of her physical condition. Her head was hazy and her eyes were dark. Her ribs didn’t hurt. That meant this wasn’t real. Her knowledge of the arcane pulled the only logical explanation of her surroundings in a matter of one second.

_ Someone is targeting me with a Dream spell. _

The scourger turned slowly, finally taking in her environment, fear and confusion dissolving into a glassy exterior of cold calm. The space she was in was alarmingly familiar. Simple and clean, with a rug alongside her solid oak desk to hide the teleportation circle beneath. A bookshelf along the far wall and a false window for simulated daylight. They had even gotten the details in her chair right; faces of roaring lions carved into the arms. Whoever this person was, they had been in her office.

Astrid turned-- and instantly came face to face with a woman. 

She sucked in a breath and took a quick step back, instinctively opening her mouth to cast a spell.

**_“Do not speak.”_ **

Astrid snapped her mouth closed, eyes bright and wary. 

The unfamiliar woman looked her over slowly, with glassy black eyes. Her voice was layered -- dual-toned -- just loud enough to grip Astrid’s mind, vibrating her psychically like an unstable window until she felt like the construct might pop with suppressed force. Her gown scooped low over her breasts, dark red muslin contrasting against ivory skin and squeezed by a steel-boned corset. Her skirt was plain, but rich, unembroidered and falling all the way down past her bare, scarred feet. In the Dream of her creation, the enchantress was unnervingly still.

The woman’s brows lowered severely over the visage of demonlike eyes. **_“This is what is going to happen. I am going to talk, and you are going to listen.”_ **

Astrid took a shaky breath, eyes narrowed… but she stayed where she was. She was in someone else’s construct. There was little that she could do. Her best bet was keeping her captor happy until she was released. One way or the other, this Dream could only last until she woke up.

Once the woman seemed to be satisfied that Astrid wouldn’t interrupt, she raised her jaw, analyzing her in the dim, false sunlight of their artificial environment.  **_“For nearly twenty years you have rested in the cradle of Trent Ikithon’s care and trust,”_ ** she murmured.  **_“Only, you do not have his trust. And you know that. Your relationship with your mentor relies solely on how well you can do your job.”_ **

Astrid bristled silently, fingers clenched at her sides, but she did not respond. She kept her expression cold and dispassionate, listening to every word and tucking it away for herself.

**_“Let us be frank. You have no power to negotiate.”_ **

The enchantress waved her hand towards the office… and it slowly dissolved into black as she spoke, leaving the two women drifting in a void of dull crimson stars. Astrid’s hair floated, wafting around her face as if she was underwater, or floating in the astral sea. The faintest red light glowed against the silhouette of her captor, vanishing in the blackness and appearing elsewhere in the void; only the occasional passing blaze of a comet would reveal her new position, leaving Astrid subconsciously searching for her in the dark as she listened.  **_“You were abused. Hurt. Tortured and conditioned. You have been sculpted to this path, like one can train a plant to grow upside down… but at some point, you must have chosen this path for yourself to get where you are,_ ** **Astrid…”**

The shadows faded. A comet passed….

And the woman was in front of her once more. Astrid stiffened, but did not move away, meeting those black eyes with anger and determination.

The enchantress’s eyes flickered with a dark kind of empathy.  **_“He hurt you. I’m giving you a chance to get out. One chance. You will get no more.”_ **

Astrid’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Who the hell  _ was  _ this…?

Suddenly, recognition flickered across her face. 

_ No… it can’t be Emmeline Becker…? _

Her fingers twisted in her own nightgown, tense and wary as her captor changed their environment once more.

Scarlet-illuminated void was replaced in a blink. Now, surrounding them were the high, beautiful, arching ivory towers of the Soltryce Academy, constructed in an instant from the core of the enchantress’s construct. Elegant, green gardens, trimmed and immaculate, sprouted from seedlings before Astrid’s very eyes. The greenhouses, which gave her a nostalgic twinge, melted into existence like candy glass between the greater structures of the Academy. One greenhouse stood out, the biggest one; built at the center of the Academy grounds, where the sunlight was strongest and the rain fell the hardest.  _ Die Grünes Gewächshaus  _ \-- the Verdant Greenhouse -- was named for its panes of beautiful, pale green glass. Nearly three stories tall and completely transparent, elegant, spiraling staircases could reach each level, with glass catwalks and thin, decorative railings connecting the different platforms.

The enchantress gestured softly to the greenhouse.  **_“Meet me here tomorrow afternoon, two hours after the sun is highest. Tell no one, come alone, and we can talk,”_ ** she told Astrid, eyes fixed on the volstrucker.  **_“And let me be crystal clear. If you_ ** **cross me,** **_you will regret it. If you tell_ ** **anyone** **_that I will be there, you will regret it. If you try to ambush me, I will kill you without hesitation.”_ **

Emmeline met her eyes.  **_“This is me giving you the benefit of the doubt, Astrid._ ** **Fuck me,** **_and I will_ ** **destroy you.** **_But if you show regret --_ ** **genuine regret** **_\-- for the things you’ve done… maybe I can do something_ ** **for** **_you, instead of against you...”_ **

Emmeline took a slow breath, searched Astrid’s face one last time… and ended the Dream.

…

Astrid shot awake. She instantly winced, fingers trembling as she tried to sit up, broken ribs crying out.

It was achingly early -- four or five o’clock in the morning -- the winter sky still pitch black as Astrid limped painfully to the desk in her room. She pulled a sheet of her good paper, pale and gleaming with cold sweat as she wrote out a short message in Zemnian, the fine ink leaving beautiful, cut lines of black.

* * *

**I have information on Emmeline Becker’s location. Please advise. -A**

* * *

With a gesture and a snap of arcane energy, it vanished. Astrid exhaled in agony and carefully sat back down. One way or the other, Master Ikithon would know what to do… and maybe  _ this  _ would finally get her back in good graces with him. 

The word of a traitor was worth nothing at all. If everything went well, this whole mess would be sorted in a matter of hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> emmie: do you know bren's dad's name tho??  
> jester: bitch  
> emmie: 
> 
> ~
> 
> emmie: i'm giving you a chance okay, i'll be at the school greenhouse at 2pm, don't call the cops  
> astrid: yeah okay *hangs up*  
> astrid: *immediately picks up the phone and dials 911* fuck you bitch i'm calling the cops


	19. The Wizard's New Jewels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after his first night "together" with Fjord, Caleb finally musters the courage to show off his fresh transmuter's stone... as well as his new, magical tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i stg, i keep popping these chapters out like candy i ACTUALLY need to chill)
> 
> anyway, enjoy more 97% widofjord tenderness and sexual tension hehe

For the next eight hours, Caleb worked and Fjord watched, transmutation magic weaving through the heavy air. The mixture of clay dust, soil, and blood wetted into a paste, traced in an ever-widening circle of runes that -- as the moon reached its zenith and began to descend -- they had to push the bed out of the way to make room for. The glyphs stretched from wall to wall in the clean, once-immaculate room with one window. 

Fjord was tucked into one corner, occasionally dozing, and all their supplies were tucked into another. Caleb would occasionally rouse him to take another small stream of blood… and when he did, Fjord could see his progress. 

What was a simple pile of fine dust, iron, clay, and silver shavings became a small black mass. Hours later, that small black mass was glowing like a piece of metal in a fire. When the red glow subsided, a gem sat in the middle of the transmutation circle, igniting with tiny flashes in the grey pre-dawn. Fjord felt like he was witnessing the birth of something, channeled through Caleb’s magic and years of experience. The unquestioning trust of allowing Caleb to rouse him from his sleep, gently open his flesh, take what he needed, then carefully wrap the bandage back around his palm and whisper for him to go back to sleep was one of the most intimate experiences Fjord could remember. In the wee hours of the morning -- in those spare moments between a gentle throb of pain and the black wool of sleep wrapping around him once more -- Fjord found himself just lying there. Cradling his palm to his chest, he watched the stone take shape and the glyphs spread incrementally across the floor… so oddly, and utterly enchanted with the entire process…

Then, finally, hours later, Fjord awoke to the blazing midmorning sun.

He grimaced, wincing as he sat up slowly. His head ached, and his palm was sore…

_Where’s Caleb?_

“Caleb? Mm…”

The door eased back open. Fjord took his hand off his head, peering up at the wizard as he entered the room. His eyes were oddly hazy, glazed over from the strange, magical subspace he had entered. “Mm?”

“Good morning,” Caleb mumbled. 

He sat down beside him, offering him a glass of cool milk and a thick piece of fresh bread with eggs, two slices of cooked bacon resting on the top. The grease on the edges was still sizzling. “How are you feeling?”

Fjord’s stomach rumbled. He immediately took a huge bite of the open breakfast sandwich. “Mm! Mmm… starved.”

Caleb nodded to himself softly. “It makes sense… I imagine I took a lot out of you.”

Fjord eagerly finished the hearty breakfast, sitting there against the wall. Once he had finished, he licked his fingers and started on the fresh milk, glancing curiously at Caleb. “Did it work?”

“Ja.” 

Caleb reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, asymmetrical gem, with an intricate golden band around it. “It worked…” he whispered, raising it to the light.

Jewel tones of orange and green -- like amber and sea glass -- shattered across the walls, chips of rainbow radiance soft against the afternoon sunlight. Rolling the stone between his fingers, Caleb showed off the new catalyst for his power. Just like the last one, it held tones of beautiful amber orange, but this time, a mottled, bubbled green streak of exquisite green ran through it. Caleb stroked his thumb over the glowing bubbles, lashes lowered in admiration.

“It’s beautiful,” Fjord whispered.

“Ja… Ja, it is…” Caleb whispered back, biting his lip to suppress a gleeful grin. He lowered it, just gazing down at the beautiful gem. “Ahh... it is _so_ much _better_ than my last one! Don’t you think?”

Fjord glanced sidelong at Caleb, smirking crookedly. “I don’t… really have a standard,” he confessed softly. His genuine, birth accent was light on his tongue, instead of sour like it had been tasting these past few days. It felt good. Natural, in Caleb’s presence. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

“As well you should, in this circumstance. This is exquisite…”

Caleb nodded to himself, then seemed to catch himself. He hesitated… glancing over at Fjord, his blue eyes softening as he looked down at his bandaged palm. “Thank you.”

The half orc shrugged, trying his best to look cool and nonchalant. “Of course! Yeah.”

They sat there together. The air hummed with tension as they avoided each other’s eyes.

“So, um—“

“Yes?”

“Were— were you going to say something? Go ahead.”

“No. No, I wasn’t…”

“Oh.” Fjord swore silently, grasping at something to break the tension. The air in here felt heavy, like the atmosphere before a storm, building and building with water and electricity…

Caleb rested his back against the wall a little more firmly, to adjust himself, and hissed slightly in pain. He reached back instinctively, feeling his spine throb.

Fjord straightened in alarm. “Are you okay?”

“Ja, ja. Just… a little raw…” the wizard mumbled.

 _Raw._ Fjord’s brain went completely blank. It took a second to figure out what Caleb _had_ to be talking about. “Oh! Right! Your tattoos… You got one on your back?”

Caleb nodded, eyes still on the floor. “Ja.”

“Can I— I mean… _may_ I see?”

Caleb went silent. For a chilling second, Fjord felt his stomach sink. Had he stepped over some kind of line? He hadn’t known it was personal. Fjord opened his mouth to try and backpedal — brush it off — but suddenly Caleb was opening his mouth too and Fjord clapped his mouth shut.

Caleb eyed him. “What?”

“Nothing! I just—” The paladin coughed and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to look casual and hoping he wasn’t blushing. “You looked like you were going to say something.”

“I— Yes. I was going to say yes, you may see…”

“Oh! Excellent. I’m— yes.”

Caleb sighed and got up, starting to unbutton his jacket. Fjord immediately looked away, twiddled his thumbs, and made a point not to look at the canvas of white skin that was being revealed inch by inch. He was just _respecting Caleb’s space._ It had nothing to do with the way his long copper hair was brushing against broad, fine-boned shoulders. Caleb was a good-looking guy! Sure, his hair was soft— _looked soft,_ but there was _no way_ he was thinking about what it might feel like in his fist. Yeah, he had a tapered, slender waist. And he could see the subtle rises of Caleb’s vertebrae at the small of his back… Shit, he hadn’t meant to look.

“Fjord.”

“Mm?” he squeaked lightly.

“You’re being very quiet,” Caleb observed flatly. “Do you not like it?”

“What?! Oh! No, I uh— haven’t looked yet. Ahem.”

Fjord stood up, _very_ professionally, and looked down at the tattoo.

The first thing that struck him was that Caleb was… _small._ He wasn’t _short,_ he was average human height — five foot seven — but Fjord had never quite realized that the difference between them was _five inches._ Even when he was quiet and a little slouched, to Fjord Caleb had always seemed like an unmistakable, powerful presence in any room. It was a little shocking to realize that Fjord was so much taller than him… and with such _fine_ bones. If he had to guess, Fjord might have guessed that Caleb took after his mother; his fingers were long, built for detail work and spellcraft, not hard labor. His body was the same way. His muscles were toned by travel. His skeleton was delicate. Just glancing down at Caleb’s wrists, Fjord realized his own fingers would overlap if he grabbed it.

Fjord tore his gaze away from Caleb’s hands and forced himself to focus on his back. Tiny chips of fiery rainbow light danced over his face. 

“Oh wow…” he whispered.

He leaned down, hands resting on his knees as he took in the long, intricate spires that traced down the curve of Caleb’s spine. His normally pale skin was pink and puffy around the jewel tones of orange, red, gold, with hidden starbursts of diamond and emerald and sapphire color that dazzled when the sunlight struck his back just right.

“What is it?” Fjord asked softly.

Caleb shivered, goosebumps crawling over his back where he could feel Fjord’s breath. “Mm? Oh… Celestial. A phrase… in Celestial.”

"Wow… it’s just— There’s runes in runes in runes…” the half orc mumbled, not touching, but using a finger to imitate the graceful swirls of jewel color. “Why Celestial?”

"Hmm?"

"Why did you want the tattoo in Celestial? I would think you’d want it in— Zemnian or... something.”

Caleb exhaled, forcing his thoughts to the question rather than the situation at hand. “Well… in Celestial, it’s— the phrase _means_ something different.”

Fjord perked up, eyes wandering over the runes with interest, as if looking at them closer might bring . “Really? What does it mean?”

“It’s… It’s a longer process to say, more in depth by the nature and purpose of the statement. It would take a number of seconds to say,” Caleb told him quietly. “See… the Celestial language is based in conviction. To phrase it as something that mortals can understand, emphasis and conviction is placed into every word, separately and together. ‘I have passed through fire.’” 

He swallowed, but something like peace settled over him. There was something calming in sharing knowledge with someone who willing, even _eager_ to listen. Jester was wonderful; she never stood still long enough to listen to the details of his spellcraft. But Fjord… 

Fjord had always been interested. Always been hungry for knowledge… just like himself.

 _“‘I.’_ Me. Myself. A mortal man, of unique standing and tragedy in his life, who knows pain like an old friend. _‘I.’”_

Fjord’s gaze flickered up to the back of the wizard’s head. It caught and lingered on the smooth strips of milky white skin, peeking out between locks of silky red hair. He licked his suddenly dry lips, feeling like he was gazing up at something of _infinite_ value.

Caleb took a deep breath, closing his eyes. _“‘Have.’_ I have committed an act, in the past tense. It is behind me, but the consequences are still a burden that I gladly bear,” he murmured, feeling Fjord’s bright eyes lingering on his skin. _“‘Passed.’_ Surmounted. Surpassed. Left behind. _‘Through.’_ Moving in one side and out the other. Continuing in time, towards completion of another matter entirely… And _‘fire.’_ Literal… and figurative.”

Fjord licked his dry lips again, his gaze wandering up and down the runes, dazzled. “This says _all_ that?”

“Mm…” Caleb nodded, pulling his hair away from his back, over his shoulder. “In each one of these phrases— in _all_ other languages, one usually puts emphasis on _one_ word, or someone can say it with a certain _emotion,_ and it changes the meaning of the sentence. It is possible to bend a meaning. But in Celestial… it is resolute. Emphasis is laid on every word. It is a weaving of notes and words, not just simple words. It is a language of absolution. I…”

Caleb sighed shakily, feeling Fjord stand up behind him. He brushed his hair back down, far too aware of the heat radiating off the tall half-orc’s chest. Sometime in the night, Fjord had unbuckled and shed his leather armor, leaving him in a sleeveless, threadbare black shirt. His deltoids and biceps were more defined, ever since the forge. His eyes were bright. His shoulders were _broad._ His waist was solid, but not so wide as to make riding him difficult…

_Stop. Focus._

“I hope that it might give me strength,” Caleb finished quickly, glancing over his shoulder. “Enough to remember what it says in the trials ahead.”

Fjord nodded quietly, trying not to think of the trials that they had already been through all on their lonesome. Because of his negligence. “Hm...”

Both men hesitated, the silence stretching for one second. Two seconds. Five seconds.

Caleb reached for his jacket again. Something about the wizard bending over right in front of him set alarm bells going off in Fjord’s head. “A-Ahhhh, uh, wait!!” he sputtered. Caleb looked back at him questioningly, so he bumbled forward, trying to figure out why he had panicked. “Uh— your skin looks puffy. It’s not supposed to look like that, right?”

“I mean… it is fresh. It is agitated. It will go down.”

“Yes, but— I can fix that,” Fjord mumbled, flustered. Flushed all the way up to the tips of his pointed ears, he waved Caleb back up to a standing position. “Come here. Don’t be stubborn! Come _here...”_

Caleb raised his brows delicately, but he obeyed. He faced Fjord harmlessly, a tiny, lopsided, _knowing_ smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as the big half-orc reached awkwardly around to his back, stopped, then tried to do the exact same thing. Fjord blushed harder and grumbled.

“Would you like me to turn around?” Caleb asked lightly, trying to hide his tiny smile.

“God, no, keep your— ass to yourself…” Fjord mumbled softly. 

The redhead’s lips twitched in amusement. “Alright…”

Finally, Fjord just bit the bullet and reached around to the middle of Caleb’s back. A glowing seed of the Wildmother’s healing magic — an acorn compared to Caduceus’s massive oak tree, but healing nonetheless — pressed into the wizard’s skin as he laid a hand on him. Immediately, all the redness and agitation around his tattoos dissolved, days worth of healing restoring his skin. He tried not to pay attention to the sigh of relief that swelled in Caleb’s chest. “There,” Fjord grumbled. 

He took his hand back. “Now you’re— ready.”

Caleb’s eyes flickered up, blue catching gold. “I certainly am,” he murmured, his soft Zemnian accent like warm velvet on a cold morning. “I appreciate it. Thank you, Fjord.”

Fjord felt his heart skip a beat. 

_...Fuck._

“Sure thing,” he finally managed to get out. God, why was he so tongue tied this morning?! He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, making a beeline for his discarded armor. “Well, I suppose we’d better start getting ready for the day! Slept till noon yesterday, it would be good to get a comparatively early start—“

Caleb’s expression sobered. “Fjord.”

“Mm? Yeah?” Fjord didn’t look up, busying himself with adjusting and buckling and tying his armor back on…

Suddenly, Caleb touched his hand, silently urging him to stop.

Fjord went still.

He hesitated… then frowned and looked up, meeting Caleb’s eyes. The sparks were still there, but now there was a different kind of tension. An anxious kind of tension. Caleb’s stunning blue eyes, which were warm and amused a moment ago, were suddenly worried and severe.

“There is something we need to talk about,” Caleb murmured.

Fjord’s brows furrowed. He slowly resumed putting on his armor, but he made a point to give Caleb his attention as he worked. “Alright. What... what is it?”

The wizard was quiet for a moment, worry carving a line between his brows. “Two things, actually…” he murmured, pulling on his own jacket and securing the ties at his waist. “Which would you prefer to discuss first, business or pleasure?”

Fjord eyed him cautiously. “Whaaaat do you mean.”

“...Business, then.”

Caleb took a breath, and met the half-orc’s eyes, dead serious. “Emmeline Becker.”

“Yes?”

“I will not kill this woman.”

Fjord faltered and stopped. He scowled -- confused -- and squinted at Caleb. “What?”

“And I do not want you, or any of our group, to kill her either,” Caleb told him firmly, eyes hard and resolute. “I do not want this woman to suffer anymore. Not if I can help it.”

 _“What?”_ the paladin whispered, bewildered and angry. “Caleb, she--!”

“I _know_ what she did to me, Fjord. Better than any of you. Do not assume that the memory has been wiped from my mind. The experience--” Caleb took a breath, pale in the face, but he continued firmly, meeting Fjord’s eyes. “The experience was terrifying. _Very_ painful. Made worse by the Feeblemind. I… It was like... being an injured doe in the claws of a mountain wildcat. Without my mind present, I was blinded by panic. Outclassed. Helpless. Powerless.”

With every word, Fjord grit his teeth, fingers tightening on his armor. _“Caleb--”_

Caleb raised a finger, silencing him, his face unbearably _sad,_ aging twenty years as he contemplated the sensation of his skull caving in. “Let me finish. Please.”

Fjord couldn’t let that pass without a reply. “Why the _hell_ wouldn’t you want to kill her if she made you _feel_ like that…?”

“Because I _deserved_ it, Fjord!”

“Nobody fucking deserves that--!”

 _“I DESERVED IT!”_ Caleb shouted, his voice pitched and desperate. 

The sudden shout startled Fjord into silence, golden eyes searching his face; meanwhile, the wizard let out a shaky breath, trying to collect himself. _“Trust. Me…”_ Caleb whispered, finally, after an eternal second of quiet, eyes fixing on Fjord’s. “I deserved it. I… I do not have the strength to tell you what was done to that woman, but trust me when I say that whatever vengeance she seeks, against me or my old schoolmates, she deserves _justice._ There is no undoing what I said and did when I was young, cruel, and foolish, and the fact that I will re-enter her life to fetch the knowledge that she stole from me… That is cruel enough.”

“Caleb…” Fjord whispered, trying to reason with him. “Bearing this cross isn’t going to fix anything either. She’s a _threat.”_

“We are meeting her. Tomorrow night.”

 _“What?!”_ Fjord hissed in disbelief. He finished his ties, staring at their wizard. _“Caleb!”_

“We are meeting her tomorrow night. Jester has agreed to help me amend one wrong in exchange for my book,” Caleb spoke over him, steel in his voice. He never broke eye contact. “I will not budge on this, Fjord. I understand that no one in the group will be particularly enthusiastic with my decision, but I will not budge on this.”

“Caleb!”

“I refuse to pursue her. I refuse to torment her. I refuse to hurt her. Do you understand?”

Fjord’s mouth popped open, tusks bared in a snarl of anger and sheer disbelief. “Caleb! Even if that was… _remotely_ okay, that is _not_ going to happen.”

“It is,” Caleb snapped quietly, eerily calm. “Because I say that it is.”

“No, you--” Fjord coughed a mirthless laugh and raised a hand, his head spinning with the ramifications of their wizard’s words. “You do _not_ understand. That old buddy of yours? Eodwulf? That asshole?”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve seen him?”

“Yes. That guy. Caleb, he is _here._ Alright?” the half-orc demanded, wild-eyed. “You have to understand that. He is _babysitting_ us on behalf of the Cerberus Assembly.”

Caleb’s eyes widened. “What?! You did not mention this yesterday!”

“It-- It didn’t exactly come up!!”

“Fjord!”

Caleb gripped his arm, blue eyes round with alarm. “You need to tell me everything.”

“Wait, what about that fucking-- _‘pleasure’_ thing you wanted to talk to me about?” Fjord sputtered, nerves getting the better of him.

“That can wait. Tell me _everything_ that’s happened. _Right now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TALK ABOUT A THREESOME YOU COWARDS


	20. Nothing Left to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eodwulf starts another day in his life, but this one -- as he quickly finds out -- is sure to be a day filled with bittersweet nostalgia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one highkey made my heart sore.... have fun...

It was a beautiful, sunny spring morning in the countryside, the day that a young man’s life would change forever. The wind washed through a sea of pale green grass, battered down by the soft mouths of a herd of sheep. 

Atop a boulder, watching over them, was a tall boy of no older than twelve. Gangly and big-boned, with quiet eyes and ragged, dark hair. 

Born and raised by shepherds, Eodwulf was often mistaken for a much older boy. He had a gentle temperament. He was good with the animals. However, his height drove children his age away, and the teenagers of Blumenthal made fun of his softspoken nature. But that was alright with him. He was far better suited to watching over the sheep and cows, where he could read his books and keep a quiver of arrows at the ready, just in case a wolf dared rear its head. He was the only one in his family that could read… and he was addicted to beautiful stories of far-off places. Princesses and daring princes. Magic and science.  _ Dragons, _ and dungeons unexplored…

That day, he was reading a story -- a good one, too -- when suddenly a pebble bounced off his boot.

Eodwulf glanced up sharply, bewildered. Hushed giggles reached his ears.

His eyes darkened as he closed his book and grabbed up his shepherd’s staff. There was a muffled gasp and a whisper in Zemnian. 

_ “Go go go!” _ the voice whispered, obscured by hooves and fluff.  _ “He’s gonna catch us!” _

Eodwulf jumped down into the sea of sheep, eyes narrowed after the sound of giggles and homemade shoes in the grass. Finally, he saw the red hair of a troublemaker bobbing through his bleating charges, heading for the trees…

He climbed back up onto the rock, jumped to the road, and crouched low, circling around into the trees. 

Dappled shade washed over him as the young shepherd boy hid behind a tree, gripped his hooked staff with both hands, and waited. Sure enough, within moments he heard two voices approaching, giggling and giddy with adrenaline. 

“I can’t believe you actually did that!” a girl whispered. He could hear the grin in her voice.

The boy’s voice that answered was light, clever, and mischievous. “Hey,  _ you  _ dared me to.”

Eodwulf watched silently behind the tree as two other children passed him. One was a girl -- taller than the boy -- about twelve years old, with a messy blonde braid and dirt smeared all over her hands. She was pretty in the face, with wild, eager, intelligent eyes. The boy had to be younger, ten at the most, with short red hair and the most wicked little smile and bright blue eyes Eodwulf had ever seen.

“But he’s so scary. Do you think he’ll be mad?”

“Astrid, we can relax! There’s no reason to be scared of a big fat--”

Eodwulf swiped the boy’s legs right out from under him. The redhead shrieked in surprise and landed flat on his back with a  _ thud  _ that knocked the air right out of his thin chest. Eodwulf stepped from the shadows, closing the space between them, only for the girl to yell furiously and leap onto his back. “W-Whoah, hey!” he snapped, grabbing at the little gremlin who was trying to  _ bite  _ him. “Ow! Get--!”

“NO! YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

“Get _ off-- _ OW!”

Her teeth barely found purchase under his ear before Eodwulf managed to throw her off his back. She yelped, tumbling to the ground next to her friend. The boy, meanwhile, was coughing to try and get his breath back, big blue eyes wide up at Eodwulf.

“Wow. You’re bigger up close,” he mumbled.

“Shut up,” Eodwulf snapped, scowling and touching the bite under his ear. He wasn’t bleeding. Good.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked, eyes bright and curious.

Eodwulf paused… then squinted down at him. “Why?”

The girl, Astrid, whispered down to him. “Bren, c’mon, we should get out of here!” 

“No way!” Bren whispered back, eyes flickering bright and excited back up at Eodwulf. The young shepherd scowled back, eyeing them suspiciously. “You said yourself nobody knows what his name is! We would be the first to know!”

“Yeah, but--”

“What’s your name?” Bren demanded.

Eodwulf opened his mouth, stunned… then closed it, staring down at the boy in bewilderment. “I’m… Eodwulf.”

Immediately, the boy grinned wickedly. “Oh, that is  _ funny!  _ A wolf guarding sheep! I am going to call you Wulf.”

Astrid sighed and rolled her eyes. “Great…”

Eodwulf eyed her curiously, then Bren, just as the redhead reached up for assistance. “I’m Bren. Bren Aldric Ermendrud.”

“Do you always introduce yourself with your middle name? You some kind of lord?” Eodwulf muttered. Nonetheless, he couldn’t resist taking the boy’s hand. His fingers practically dwarfed the ten-year-old’s delicate bones, half gripping his thin wrist too as he pulled Bren back to his feet. 

The redhead stared up at him for a moment, starry-eyed… then smirked and shrugged at him. “It just sounds better.”

“And before you ask, yes,” Astrid muttered, standing up too. “He’s  _ always  _ like this.”

Eodwulf hesitated, glancing between the boy and girl… then, a tiny snort escaped him. “What are you  _ doing  _ here?”

Bren grinned happily, pleased with himself. “She dared me to throw a stone at you.”

Astrid rubbed her forehead crossly, leaving a smear of dirt on it. “I just wanted to see what would happen…”

“And now we know! We have a new friend.”

Eodwulf opened his mouth, eyes narrowed curiously. “I-- Really?”

“Of course! You are our new friend, Wulf who watches sheep.”

Bren lit up. “Oh! You want to see a trick?”

“Um… sure…”

“Great! I can show you a trick.”

Eodwulf lowered his staff, curious despite himself as the young boy before him started to whisper to himself, eyes closed and nose scrunched up with focus… Then, a small globule of light flickered into existence. The shepherd boy startled, taking a step back from the dancing squib of amber light. It wavered and flickered… but it was there, casting a warm glow over the three children’s faces. It was the first magic he had ever seen in person… and it was performed by the first friend he had ever made.

* * *

...

Over twenty years later, the same shepherd boy slowly opened his eyes, a strip of orange dawn glowing bright across his face.

The sun was already up. He had slept in. 

Exhaustion tugged at Eodwulf with tender fingers — the warm dream urging him to stay in the hollow of his covers, at  _ least _ until the sun was visible over the buildings of the Shimmer Ward — but a single thought made his heart quicken with bittersweet excitement. His lashes fluttered, mind already returning to awareness.

_ I’m going to see Bren today. _

With a subtle twinge, the scourger corrected himself.  **_Caleb._ ** _ I’m going to see  _ **_Caleb_ ** _ today. _

Eodwulf took the time to heave a deep, bittersweet sigh… and finally threw the covers off of his naked body. 

Bare feet pressed against a luxurious wooden floor — like the walls of Ambition’s Call, heated by hot water pipes that ran inside them — as he crossed his room, opening the shutters and drawing back the curtains. He gazed down into the empty courtyard below, appreciating the way the sun glittered off the fountain, and went to start his day like he always did. 

As gruppenleiter among the volstrucker, Eodwulf had perks; most notably, his lifestyle. His Zemnian-style flat was a high rise with a beautiful view to the east. Every morning shortly after dawn, a private vendor left cold, fresh milk, thick marbled bacon, a small carton of brown eggs, coffee, and a loaf of warm bread by his door, all neatly wrapped in a basket and kerchief. He could request something different if he wanted, but routine was Eodwulf’s friend. It helped the mornings blur together. Every morning, he would work out before dawn, bathe, cook, eat, get dressed, and head out across the city to the market, the Matron’s temple, and sometimes the griffon aviary before his work began for the day.

This morning though, after he ate, Eodwulf spent a little extra time in the bathroom. He washed his dark hair, shaped up his facial hair, and ran a bit of scented oil through it, making sure that it fell just right. He trimmed his chest hair. Just enough...

He eyed his pelvis in the mirror… then eyed himself...

He sighed and trimmed up his pubic hair too. It wasn’t as if anyone  _ important _ was going to see them anytime soon, but it was just to make  _ himself  _ feel better. Just for himself.

Eodwulf finally went to his closet, picking carefully over his selection of leather armor. He ended up selecting his favorite; a dark brown set with deep maroon lining and regal brass ribbing that accentuated the power in his chest and biceps. He secured his belt and component attachments to his side. Winterbraut went on next — the white blade disappearing into its sheath with a cold  _ snick  _ and a faint wisp of chilled fog — then boots and bracers. His magical rings. His shield. His gloves. He looked himself over in the mirror one last time, raising his jaw.

Good. Very attractive, but no more than was warranted.

Eodwulf nodded to himself soundly and stepped out of his flat, locking the door behind him.

The dawn had come cool and sunny over the Rexxentrum skyline, the rain and fog from the day before finally burned off. It gave way to a beautiful blue and blazing orange sky as Eodwulf made his way down the streets of the Shimmer Ward, back towards Ambition’s Call. He traded a silver coin for a hearty cinnamon bun on the way there; he strayed to a few other vendors, purchasing bread, cheese, dried meats, and a few spare pieces of fruit, wrapping it all up in the same kerchief and basket. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since Thoreau Lionette had been put to sleep. When he woke, the boy was sure to be hungry.

As quietly as he could, Eodwulf made his way into the Ikithon’s tower, closing the grand doors behind him. The familiar scent of books and power washed over him as he waited for the floor to descend. Master Ikithon had told him to care for the boy, so he surely would allow his passage. There was no doubt in his mind about his path that morning...

So, when the floor  _ ascended  _ — skyward, towards the archmage’s office — Eodwulf felt his gut sink like a stone.

What had he done? Oh gods, what had gone  _ wrong? _

Eodwulf’s expression went from relaxed to stone still, fingers tightening around the basket and eyes fixed straight ahead. He had called another scourger to watch Camarouth Cottage and report in if anything of importance happened. There had been a single report since then, of four cloaked figures appearing and three entering the inn, but their descriptions were in line with Bren and two other members of the Mighty Nein. The fourth was most likely an ally from Xhorhas, someone who had agreed to teleport them. Had they escaped? Had the Mighty Nein vanished from Rexxentrum? Was he about to be punished?  _ Focus.  _ _ What is the worst case scenario. Listen. Obey. Apologize. It’s all you can do. _

The spiraling floor came to a gentle, easing stop at the very top of the tower. The foreboding, rich, black oak door of his master’s office stood cracked open, spilling candlelight out onto the carpet. There were soft voices beyond the door. Familiar ones.

Eodwulf’s breakfast felt like a lump of lead in his stomach, but he went inside.

The familiar soaring architecture of Trent Ikithon’s office towered high that morning. The air was heavier inside, and the curtains were drawn over the view of Castle Ungebroch. The globules of dancing lights -- so much stronger and steadier than the single squib from Eodwulf’s dreams -- were closer to the floor today, leaving the ceiling and towering walls dark with shade. 

Trent and Astrid were standing close together, poring over a map. Neither of them looked up as he entered. “So, we will post more people here and  _ here,”  _ Astrid was murmuring, touching two points on the map. “People that can cast Truesight and Dispel Magic, along with soldiers. Long weapons. Pikes or spears. That should be enough to cover the grounds.”

“This is all assuming that she is  _ alone,” _ Trent told her sternly, his voice soft and silvery. “What if she is  _ not?” _

“Caleb Widogast’s group will be more than enough to compensate for anyone she brings in. The woman has no allies.”

“And you are sure of this?”

“I--” 

Astrid went quiet, her arms gone still and the cogs of her mind spinning swiftly. 

Eodwulf didn’t interrupt, just taking his place against the wall as he looked her over, extracting everything he could from the scene he was witnessing. His handler showed no signs of her injuries, so Master Ikithon had shelled out the gold to have her healed; she was doing something important soon. Something important enough to plan for. They were speaking of a woman? Becker, no doubt. The map…

His dark eyes flickered across the map, obscuring his confusion as he recognized the grounds of the Soltryce Academy. Astrid had placed a number of silver casters and copper soldiers strategically across the map, along with nearly a dozen gilded elite pieces within a wide radius of the Verdant Greenhouse. Two golden elite pieces -- with ruby chips set in their heads -- were placed  _ inside  _ the greenhouse. 

Pincer movement. Becker was going to be in the greenhouse, and they were going to ambush her.

“How are we clearing out the school?” Eodwulf asked steadily.

“Be silent,” Astrid muttered, scowling and exasperated. She didn’t even look up. “You are not a part of that.”

The man closed his mouth and looked straight ahead.

Trent eyed his apprentices dryly, sighed deeply, and walked slowly around the table.  _ “Gruppenleiter.  _ Come here,” the archmage ordered, beckoning him. There was no anger, only professionalism in his voice. “Let me look at you.”

Eodwulf obeyed, keeping his spine straight and his jaw raised as his master looked him over. He did so for long enough that Astrid took notice, her eyes lifting from the map.

A small, amused smile crossed Trent’s face. He raised his brows delicately, nodding at the fine, well-crafted, sturdy armor that Eodwulf wore. “I see that you have… dressed nicely. What is the occasion?”

“Caleb Widogast arrived at the Camarouth Cottage last night, Master Ikithon. I hoped for a good first impression before we went out.”

Trent nodded slowly, his gaze pensive and admiring as it traveled up and down Eodwulf’s body. “An excellent idea…”

A moment of silence passed.

Then, the Archmage of Civic Influence turned to Astrid. The woman kept her eyes on Eodwulf, tension traveling between their locked eyes like electricity on a wire; he could tell that she was still angry with him, her shoulders tense and her expression closed and guarded… layered with a cold blanket of discomfort as Trent’s eyes crawled over her body. She was dressed simply, in a long-sleeved, high-collared black blouse and a long, dark green skirt, as was befitting of her station. However, she had not put on a corset that morning; understandably, considering her cracked ribs had not been repaired until recently. Her posture was imperfect though, as a result, and the cloth of her clothes were rumbled in places. Her hair was finger-combed. Every line of her body was wrought with tension.

“Frau Beck.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you plan on meeting our lost pup looking like that?” Trent asked softly.

Astrid straightened her back, feeling like her skin had shrunk around her muscles and bones. Both she and Eodwulf knew it wasn’t a question.

“No, sir. I planned to change.”

“Good,” the archmage replied, his voice dark. Intently, he made a subtle gesture towards Eodwulf, silently ordering her to admire the pull of cloth, leather, and bronze around his chest. “You could learn something from the Gruppenleiter. Sir Eodwulf.”

“Yes, master?” Eodwulf replied, keeping his eyes forward.

“Accompany Frau Beck back to her house. Help her pick out something… fetching,” Trent murmured. “Then help her relax. She is so  _ tense  _ this morning, don’t you think? It is hardly appealing.”

“Shall we be… appealing,” Eodwulf asked quietly.

Trent had to smirk, eyes flickering between the two of them. “Of  _ course  _ you should be appealing. Caleb Widogast is a man of interest, is he not? He needs a reason to stay in the city until this matter is resolved. I expect you--”

He turned back to Astrid, just enough of his humor vanishing to send dread through her veins; like a shot of ice water.  _ “Both _ of you… to do your best to bring my prodigal son  _ home.  _ It is important to me.”

Astrid raised her jaw, the skin around her eyes tightening at the word. He finally met her gaze, a look of anger, pleading, frustration, exasperation, understanding… and finally resignation passing between the two. Eodwulf knew her face well enough -- and the pressure she was under -- to know that she was not pleased by the concept of sleeping with him. Astrid was a woman of calm, professional, sharp edges, risen above the station of a mere volstrucker, or gruppenleiter. She took pride in the fact that she no longer wielded the knives of the foltermeister. She was relieved,  _ made superior,  _ by making her weapons words and paper and ink. She had always wanted to give orders. To have authority. After years of bathing her hands in blood, she had finally achieved a position as Ikithon’s diviner. Her final goal was just to take that last step… and ascend to the Archmage’s chair herself.

If that hinged on… _ relaxing,  _ at Eodwulf’s hand… it was a small price to pay for her ambitions.

There was an iota of softness in her eyes at the mention of seeing Bren again, too, despite her own mixed, bittersweet emotions. And Eodwulf knew all too well how that felt.

Eodwulf quietly reached out a hand for her. 

Astrid brushed off her skirt, walked over to him, and gently took his hand. The slide of warm, delicate fingers over his calloused palm sent a painful twinge shooting through his chest. Nostalgia. Resentment.  _ Love.  _ Messy, spattered, copper-scented love... dried, cold, and long-abandoned, like a corpse left -- long ignored, but never forgotten -- in a basement, for far too many years…

Eodwulf swallowed the lump in his throat and turned his eyes steadily to his master. “If I may speak.”

“Of course,” Trent murmured, offering him the floor.

“I hoped to take care of the boy this morning. May I perform my duties first, before accompanying Frau Beck to her manor?”

“I see no reason why not.” 

The archmage waved them away, meeting Astrid’s eyes one last time. “Go. You will have the resources you requested. I trust that you will perform your duties to the best of your ability,  _ der Kommandantin.” _

Both of them bowed -- Eodwulf bowing quietly, Astrid sinking into a simple curtsy -- and took that as their cue to leave.

They stood together as the floor descended.

They stood together as the floor sunk past ground level. Even further down, a gentle, half-darkness swallowed them as the glittering chandelier faded to a softer red light, meant to preserve night vision. The rich wooden walls stopped abruptly, changing into the deep, polished, grey bedrock of the hills that Rexxentrum was built upon. The scent of blood and piss grew stronger as they passed level after level of doors. These were the rooms of political prisoners. Traitors, or family members of those who had dared to cross the Empire. Some of them -- the one more shallowly buried -- were designed to be comfortable, with heating and beds and bookshelves. The deeper ones, however, were nothing but stone and shackles.

Thankfully, the floor only sunk to the third sublevel. Eodwulf stepped up to a simple wooden door, pulling a key from his pocket and opening it up. Astrid stepped in after him, closing the door behind them.

A small, but colorful children’s room opened up around them, rich with soft blues, reds, and greens. A false, magical window offered an illusory view of a field and a distant forest rustling softly in the wind. Bookshelves, full of picture books and drawing supplies, stood against the wall with soft, sanded down edges. Baskets of toys -- blocks, balls, stuffed animals, and a full set of toy Dwendalian soldiers -- were arranged immaculately at the foot of a small bed, untouched by its current occupant. 

The small form of Thoreau Lionette Jr. was curled up on its side beneath the covers. Magical sleep had left him in the exact same position that Eodwulf had left him; tucked in gently, with his weathered rabbit held loosely against his chest.

Eodwulf felt almost self-conscious as he stepped forward, crouching beside the small bed. He took a breath and gave the toddler a shake. “Wach auf, Kleiner…” he whispered.

The little boy’s nose scrunched up. “Mmmmmm…! Noooo…”

“If you just eat some breakfast, then you can go right back to sleep, little one,” Eodwulf murmured. He opened the basket of food that he had brought, pulling out the still-warm cinnamon roll. “Here. You must be hungry.”

The smell of hot cinnamon pastry made Thoreau perk up. Eyes still heavy, he fumbled at Eodwulf’s hand, trying to goad the scourger into feeding him. “Mmm…”

“No no…” Eodwulf sighed. He helped the little boy into a sitting position. “You have to sit up. You’ve been asleep for quite a while…”

Astrid watched from the door -- her arms folded over her chest -- as if it might protect her from the tender display. He could feel her eyes on him, patient and exhausted, but he made sure that the child finished his cinnamon bun. “Was that good?” he asked quietly.

Thoreau sleepily licked his fingers clean of the icing. “Mm hm.”

“Well, I brought you lunch and dinner, yes?” Eodwulf told him, showing him the basket. The toddler yawned, focusing on it as seriously as a sleepy two-year-old could manage. “I am going to leave this here. It should be more than enough for today. If you get hungry, just open up this basket.”

“Is there more candy…?” TJ asked drowsily, yawning again.

Eodwulf felt the box of enchanted peppermints weigh heavy on his belt.

He smiled halfheartedly and shook his head. “Not this morning, little lord. But if you are good and you stay in this room, you may have a candy before bed.”

Thoreau beamed sleepily and nodded. “Okay…”

He yawned, stretching. “Imma go back to sleep now…” he mumbled, snuggling back in with his rabbit.

“Träum süß…” _ Sweet dreams... _

Eodwulf nodded, eyes soft and bittersweet. He just watched the boy for a moment, waiting until his waking breaths turned to sleeping ones. Then, finally, he pulled the comforter a little higher over the young Lionette’s body and stood, returning to Astrid’s side.

Wordlessly, they left the room together. There was nothing left to say.

In Astrid’s bedroom, Eodwulf closed the door behind them. She allowed him to take off his armor. She allowed him to kiss her breathless. She allowed him to climb on top of her, eyes focused on the paneling of her bedroom ceiling and not the identity of the man between her legs. The act served its purpose. It relaxed them both, left them with a glow.  Afterwards, Eodwulf helped to lace up her corset and her new dress. 

They left together for the griffon aviary, and the Camarouth Cottage.

There was nothing left to say.


	21. Headmaster Margolin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbeknownst to everyone else, Trent Ikithon goes to visit a coworker and sets into motion the first steps of his own master plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive the short chapter, the longer chapter 22 is like 80% finished, but i was pretyping it and realized this was really the only place that THIS SECTION fit in, so....... have some plotting slimy bastard man AND a character that i am APPALLED that more people don't touch on
> 
> (Contains spoilers for the Explorer's Guide to Wildemount!!)

Meanwhile, across the city, as the sun climbed higher into the cold morning sky, Trent Ikithon stepped into his personal carriage. 

“The Soltryce Academy,” he ordered his driver. “Quickly.”

He closed the door behind him and settled into the velvet-lined seat as the carriage set off. The Archmage of Civic Influence was dressed simply. His white and gold robes and ornamental mantle were foregone for the sake of subtlety. Instead, he was clad in dark, simple, luxurious clothes, loose fitting and stitched with dozens of hidden pockets. He could easily draw the hood up without suspicion in the frosty morning, and carry a bag of holding without any second looks… which he did. A leather bag was sling across his body, one liver-spotted hand over it protectively.

The carriage arrived at Soltryce without issue. Trent got out of the carriage, ascending the few stone steps up to the edge of the grounds. Two armored guards stood up straight, eyes forward. Several students in their first and second-year uniform robes hurried across the grounds to their morning classes, paying no mind to the tall figure making his way to the headmaster’s office.

...

Trent swept into the headmaster’s office, closing the door behind him.  The room was expansive, constructed finely of warmer, oak wood in Zemnian design, but while Trent’s tower office expanded vertically, this one was _ wide.  _ With a fine, vaulted ceiling of painted plaster and bowed oak beams, bookshelves of all types and beautiful historical paintings were tucked into the corners. Sunlight danced over a sturdy iron desk, overlooking the gardens of the Soltryce Academy… and seated at that desk was a familiar figure.

“Herr Ikithon.”

Trent nodded steadily to him. “Herr Margolin.”

Headmaster Zivan Margolin -- Archmage of Conscription, headmaster to the Soltryce Academy, and keeper of peace amongst the Cerberus Assembly -- waved for him to sit. Calm, patient, and quietly imposing, the man was a pureblooded Zemnian in his late fifties, with short, silvered hair, a trim beard, golden spectacles, and eyes that could have been cut from pale sapphires, set deep in a face that had seen many years. His slender body was wrapped in intricate, trailing scarlet robes of a magical make, with decorative white and silver metalwork over his tunic. He was clean, put-together, and radiated an aura of power. He was in charge of the curriculum at Soltryce, but also watched for any latent powers that might be worth grooming as future allies of the Assembly, dangers to be monitored, or prospective minds for Ikithon to conscribe into the Volstrucker. If Trent could call anyone in the Cerberus Assembly a cautious ally, the closest thing to one would be Margolin.

The headmaster, after all, was the one that recommended nearly all of Trent’s students to him. Zivan did not ask questions, and Trent delivered results. 

Their relationship was almost friendly.  _ Almost. _

“What is it?” Margolin asked, his voice dark and blunt. He set down his quill and interlaced his fingers, resting his back and eyeing Ikithon suspiciously. “You are not one to call a meeting so urgently.”

“Ahh…” Trent sighed. 

He licked his lips, grinning to himself… then he narrowed his eyes at the headmaster, smirking wickedly. “Do you remember… a young woman? That you informed my students about?” he murmured. “This would be a while ago. Some seventeen years…”

The skin around Zivan’s eyes tightened. “It is not often that your students fail to capture their quarry. It is not often that one of my prized teacher’s assistants turns out to be a sibling to a traitorous Crownsguard. And it is certainly not often that your mess ends up coming into my office, bloodied and bruised and pleading for assistance. Yes. I remember. However, I find it surprising that you would remind me of the one time that you  _ violated  _ our terms.”

“Yes, yes…” Trent sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Whatever I do to sculpt my Volstrucker and punish traitors to the empire, you do  _ not  _ wish to be made aware. Whether it be because of willful ignorance or other--”

Zivan cut in sharply.  _ “What.  _ Do you  _ want  _ from me, Ikithon.”

“It is not what I want from you.”

Trent was quiet for a moment, casting his eyes to the corners of the room.

Finally, the archmage leaned in, eyes bright and fascinated. “I have heard -- from a  _ reliable  _ source -- that this woman, Emmeline Becker, is not only alive and gone rogue. She also seeks vengeance against the empire,” he murmured, meeting Zivan’s gaze evenly. “She has grown in power over the past seventeen years. She is of a similar tier  _ now  _ that  _ I was _ back then. That makes her  _ severely  _ dangerous. It is quite possible that we will not know where she will strike until she has struck, or  _ well  _ after. In that matter, I deliver to you a  _ warning.” _

Zivan did not so much as twitch as he listened, searching Trent’s face for any sort of lie as the older archmage continued. “She made an attempt at the life of one of my greatest students, Caleb Widogast, whose power should not be dismissed,” Trent told him, hushed. “If she is going to strike at the Assembly -- or even the Crown -- it is possible that she will succeed. If she does, you will have your hands full.”

“And why is that?” the headmaster demanded. “Is this not what your Volstrucker are for? To  _ scourge _ traitors once and for all  _ before  _ they step foot on my shores? What good are your  _ ‘scourgers’ _ if they cannot do that much?”

“The Volstrucker will do all they can.  _ That  _ I promise you,” Trent whispered, his voice like a silver snake. “But we must take precautions. I know the insidious dangers of a well-placed enchantment better than _ anyone  _ in the empire. Now--”

Trent held up a hand, urging Zivan to let him speak. “Whether she aims for the Assembly or the Crown, if she succeeds, other archmages will undoubtedly try to seize power.  _ Do not let them.  _ You are the peacemaker among us. You have a voice that De Rogna, Iresor, Hass, and Tversky will listen to. If the Crown falls, the Cereberus Assembly will be the only sound authority for the Empire to turn to.”

Zivan stared at him, searching his face. “... You _ truly believe _ this...  _ woman  _ could topple the Crown by her lonesome?”

“If she makes intelligent decisions?” Trent murmured seriously.  _ “Yes. _ The Crown is weaker than any of us will openly admit. Now that the war has died down, the populace’s faith is returning to a precipice. Prince Eidys is a simpleton. His only talent is in hitting other men with a piece of sharpened metal. He will be worth little more than a puppet as king. Princess Suria has repeatedly proved her inability to bear a child. It will fall to the Cerberus Assembly to bring the empire to heel.”

“What of the king’s advisors?” Zivan demanded quietly, but he leaned in too. “Why could they not be trusted?”

Trent sighed, smirking. “Headmaster Margolin…” he whispered, almost amused. “If Becker takes a place disguised as an advisor, or takes  _ control  _ of one, it would mean that her poisonous growth would thrive within the Crown. Imagine if a rogue enchantress took control of Chamberlain Vir. Or the Prime Arbiter.  _ Any  _ of them.”

He sobered, meeting Zivan’s gaze firmly. “And the same goes for our people. This is why you are so important here, as our peacemaker.”

The headmaster raised his jaw wordlessly, watching him.

“If the other archmages lose themselves in a scramble for power, the Cerberus Assembly may fall too,” Trent pushed, eyes fixed on the Archmage of Conscription. “Everything that Ludinus, you, me, _ we _ \-- even everything that your  _ father _ built -- might fall, if the Assembly squabbles in this time of crisis.”

“You are the Archmage of Civic Influence.” 

Zivan scowled, folding his arms over his chest. “Your concerns are noted. The Martinet and I will handle the Assembly,” he told Trent firmly. “As for you, you are responsible for the capture and punishment of Emmeline Becker. Use the people that I have given you, to the utmost of their ability. You will punish her for every infraction that she accumulates.  _ Without  _ hesitation.”

Trent bit back a slow smile.

The archmage bowed his head and stood. “That is all,” he murmured. “Thank you for your time, Headmaster Margolin.”

“You know where the door is.”

Zivan Margolin turned his eyes back to his papers, tension more prevalent in his shoulders as Ikithon went to leave. “Wait,” he suddenly called. “Just a moment, Herr Ikithon.”

Trent turned back, brows delicately raised. “Yes?”

“I have heard tell of an operation being executed near the Verdant Greenhouse,” the headmaster stated sharply. “You do not plan on doing this during school hours, are you?”

“Oh, well, now that you mention it...” 

Trent smiled lightly. “It might be wise to  _ surprise  _ the student body with the afternoon off,” he purred. “Perhaps a pipe burst. Or perhaps your teachers planned a surprise field trip to the Endless Emporium of Enchanted Eccentricities. Get that insufferable goliath woman to do a lecture for them. And while you’re at it, perhaps a few of your more powerful teachers might stay behind to…  _ assist.” _

Zivan scowled thunderously at him. “This will interfere with my  _ curriculum, _ Ikithon.”

Trent’s smile turned softer, more poisonous. “Your  _ curriculum  _ can be revised. Emmeline Becker’s next known location cannot be. I suggest you remain in your office, dear Headmaster, until the danger has passed. Unless, of course, you would like to participate. Oh… wait, yes. You  _ despise  _ witnessing my work...”

“You and I are going to have a  _ serious  _ discussion about this,” the archmage snapped dangerously.

“And I look forward to it. Good day, Headmaster Margolin.”

Zivan snarled furiously and grabbed a ledger. “Good day, Master Ikithon. For all the gods’ sakes…”

Trent let the door close behind him, his poisonous smile falling from his lips, leaving the headmaster of the most prestigious magical school on the continent to frantically scribble out orders to the academy teachers. The door clicked closed, and he stepped back out into the morning sun. His eyes were dark, determined, and  _ wicked  _ with excitement as he paused in the hall.

He pulled out a fire wire, twisted it in his palm, and Messaged his driver. “Go back to the stables. I have business to attend to.”

The reply came swiftly and certainly. _ “Yes, Master Ikithon.” _

Trent stood there for one minute. Two minutes…

Then, he set off again.

Trent passed through the beautifully trimmed gardens, gazing around with intent. He was sure to pass by the Verdant Greenhouse, walking inside and  _ “accidentally” _ walking in on a class studying the visage of poisonous plants. He smiled -- purposefully hesitant -- and was sure not to speak. He glanced around the tall greenhouse… and finally left.

As expected, when Trent descended the steps of the outer ivory walls of the Soltryce Academy, there was no sight of his carriage. However, there were five carriages sitting outside; lesser ones, with basic, pay-by-the-mile drivers.

Trent approached one. The driver glanced at him, then immediately did a double take and sat up straight. “Y-Yes? May I help you?!”

He purposefully pitched his voice up to sound a little different. A little hushed. “Castle Ungebroch. Quickly.”

“Yes, sir!”

The carriage driver waited until he got in, and quickly snapped the reins.

Trent Ikithon took a deep breath of contentment, settling into the backseat, and pulled out an old piece of worn paper. He opened his spellbook to his fifth-level spells, spread the paper out, and began to finally copy a teleportation circle into the tome. For seventeen years, that teleportation circle had been wearing away -- languishing in a long-anticipated hidden drawer of his office -- and now the time had finally come.

“Finally…” Trent whispered softly to himself.

He blew delicately on the drying ink and finally looked up.  _ It’s all coming together… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ickythong is up to No Good
> 
> ALSO!!!!!!!! ZIVAN MARGOLIN IS NOT AN OC!! He's legit one of the members of the Cerberus Assembly in the EGTW! Tbh I'm STARTLED that we've never met him because he feels like he would be a goddamn HUGE PART OF CALEB'S VENGEANCE if the M9 ever found out!!!!!! This is his descriptive blurb (straight from my battered copy of The Explorer's Guide to Wildemount):
> 
> "HEADMASTER ZIVAN MARGOLIN,  
> ARCHMAGE OF CONSCRIPTION  
> Lawful neutral, male human
> 
> Zivan Margolin inherited the position of headmaster from his father, the late Jorma Margolin. Zivan has been the headmaster of the Soltryce Academy in Rexxentrum for nearly twenty years. Calm, patient, and quietly imposing, Zivan walks the halls of the Academy with a keen eye for talent. He is in charge of the curriculum and also watches from any latent powers that may be worth grooming as future allies of the assembly, dangers to be monitored, or prospective minds for Ikithon to conscribe into the Volstrucker. Zivan has rarely had the opportunity to demonstrate his full power, for he is typically busied with keeping the peace between the feuding members of the assembly. Those who have witnessed his true might, however, now know that his words are backed by some of the most powerful magics within the Cerberus Assembly."
> 
> BITCH
> 
> ZIVAN MARGOLIN YOU BITCH
> 
> YOU WERE MOST LIKELY THE REASON WHY THE BLUMENTRIO WERE BROUGHT TO IKITHON'S ATTENTION I N C A N O N
> 
> A N D N O B O D Y K N O W S Y O U E X I S T ? ! ? ! B I T C H ! ! ! ! ! !
> 
> (i had to guess at his age and appearance and motives according to his canon alignment but BITCH!!!!)


	22. Better Than a Grudge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before they have to work with the Cerberus Assembly, Caleb professes to the murder of his own flesh and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so weak for the tenderness of the canon talk from Cr2 Ep110, so i ripped a good chunk of dialogue from the episode transcript. that "we lie...... we lie sometimes to protect other people, sometimes to protect ourselves" line is PRIME WIDOJEST!!

“And then she said, like, fucking, ‘You don’t appreciate your magic because you’re a cleric! You’re totally pathetic and stupid and shouldn’t be dating a wizard!’  _ Habababababawrrrrr…  _ Shit!! She’s so  _ annoying!!” _

Beau’s deep, rough voice interrupted Jester. “So, uh…”

The blue tiefling glanced up, her cheeks stuffed with breakfast. “Mm?”

Downstairs -- at the Camarouth Cottage -- Beau was once again sitting in Yasha’s lap, squinting at their trickster cleric at the same breakfast table that they had occupied yesterday. Jester had woken up in a furious huff, told them the bare minimum of what had transpired at the Xhorhaus, and then proceeded to rant about the dream that she’d had. 

Beau left her mouth open for a second, eyes narrowed with uncertainty at the walls, but finally she pushed forward. “So… what was that with Fjord last night?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, I’m trying to get Cayleb and Fjord into a threesome,” Jester replied simply through her eggs. “I think it will be amazing for both of them!”

“Uh… okay. I dunno if we have time to unpack  _ all  _ of that--”

Suddenly, Caleb’s voice cut through the sleepy morning air. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Congratulations!”

Halfway through their morning meals of coffee, eggs, and sausage, the Mighty Nein turned up to see an exhausted Caleb half-jogging down the stairs. Fjord hurried close behind, still fumbling to put his armor back on.

Beau’s brows shot up. “Oh, shit.”

Jester grinned and raised a brow. “Ooooh. You two have fuuuuuun?”

“We had a very productive night, yes,” Caleb stated bluntly. He hopped down off the last step. “We are fucked!”

“I think it’s just ‘we fucked,’” Veth pointed out.

Fjord sputtered and kicked at Veth. “Shut up! Nothing happened.”

“Wait, nothing happened? But we heard, like, these weird sighs and grunts and furniture moving!” Jester exclaimed, pouting. “Nothing happened? You  _ can’t  _ tell me that nothing happened.”

“Why are  _ you  _ encouraging this?” Fjord whispered, bewildered.

“I mean, uh-- I’m kinda curious? But also it’s funny?”

“Yeah, fuckin’--  _ Okay.  _ Guys, Caleb has something to  _ say?!  _ Thanks?! Geez...” Fjord waved for Caleb to continue, blushing deeply and crossing his arms. 

Their wizard eyed them all, expecting an interruption-- and his eyes snagged on Beau. Unconsciously, Caleb looked down at her stomach, and the scar that he now  _ knew  _ was there. Caleb faltered… then took a steadying breath and met her eyes, brows furrowed severely. “Are you alright?” he murmured, his accent thick in the silence.

Beau hesitated, glancing at Fjord. Her captain shrugged quietly, looking down at the ground.

“He told you everything?” she murmured bluntly.

“...Ja,” Caleb whispered heavily. “I’m… I am so sorry, Beau.”

“God, _ fuck-- _ It wasn’t your  _ fault…” _ Beau mumbled. She glared at him halfheartedly, more exasperated than anything. “Don’t  _ apologize  _ for shit you had no part in. This was… Becker setting us up and the Assembly falling for it. This was our enemies. Not you.”

“I-- No, that is…” Caleb sighed heavily and turned to the others. 

A heavy moment of silence settled over them all, as he looked between each one of his friends. Beau, wild and intelligent and powerful. Veth, mischievous and blunt, and his greatest friend of them all. Caduceus with his gentle disposition and wisdom beyond all their years. Yasha, with her dark humor and great strength. 

Fjord, endlessly loyal and seeking and morally uncertain, just like him. 

And Jester. Beautiful,  _ reckless  _ Jester, who he had attacked and then taken as his “lover.” A lover who -- the more he thought about it -- he didn’t deserve. A lover that he was too selfish to let go. How the hell could he even  _ think  _ about taking a second lover when he had so violently snatched up his first?

Caleb took a deep, shaky breath. “Could we go somewhere more private?”

Jester blinked. “Uh… yeah! Yeah, of course! Upstairs?”

She looked around at the others. “Upstairs…?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, sure…”

One by one, the Mighty Nein made their way upstairs, Caleb bringing up the rear and glancing back occasionally towards the door. A dark, heavy sensation settled in his gut. Like he was being watched… but he continued after his little family.

Fjord opened the door for the rest. A hand subconsciously rested -- protectively, briefly -- at Caleb’s waist before he followed the others in. 

The door clicked shut.

Yasha blinked widely. “Oh wow. This is, uh…”

The floor was covered in mud, ink, and dried blood, saturating the floorboards in interlayered, intricate circles. Transmutation glyphs covered the wood grain to the point of nearly carpeting the entire floor, and a darkened, burned spot right in the center of it all, where Caleb had extracted his new transmutation stone.

“Don’t mind that,” Caleb mumbled, waving his hand. He tried to pull at the bed and grunted with effort. The heavy frame didn’t budge.

“Here,” their barbarian murmured. “I got it.”

“Thank you…”

Once Yasha was finished shoving the bed back to the center of the room -- over his alchemic circles and calculations -- Caleb straightened, turned, and met Jester’s eyes. “Alright… How much did you tell them about my stipulations?” he asked firmly.

Jester made a huffy noise and propped her hands on her hips. “I  _ told  _ them how you don’t want to kill Emmeline. How you’re super  _ super  _ sure that you did something so terrible that--”

“Alright,” Caleb cut in, waving a hand dismissively. “Then you know the worst of it. Fjord told me the rest.”

“Well, no!” Jester huffed. “You don’t know a big thing!”

Caleb threw his hands up in the air, eyes wild, and let them fall back to his sides. “By all the gods. Please! Share! What other disasters are on our doorstep this fine morning?”

Jester frowned, looking a little worriedly at the others, but she interlaced her fingers and sighed, blowing a raspberry towards the ceiling. “Emmie sent me a Dream last night.”

The rest of the group yelled out. “What?!”

“Why didn’t you mention this?!”

“I did!! I said that I had a dream with Emmie in it!!”

“You didn’t say it was  _ actually her!!” _

“Jester--”

“Holy fuck!”

“What’d she say?!”

“Did she threaten you,” Caleb murmured, eyes dark.

Jester shook her head firmly, arms folded crossly. “No. She… She apologized,” she mumbled bitterly.

“Well, yeah! She fuckin’  _ better  _ have!” Beau spat.

“For what?” Caleb murmured. His lashes fluttered slightly, eyes sad and tortured. The rest of the group fell silent, submitting to the chill of discomfort. “What did she apologize for, Jester…?”

Jester faltered slightly at the look in her wizard’s eyes. “She… She said that she wished she had done it differently,” she mumbled softly, the angry poison in her voice slowly draining into something distant and bitter. “She said she made assumptions, she improvised, that she acted cruel. She said something like… ‘everyone becomes cruel when they’re angry,’ and that she’d never thought of herself as cruel before. Then she fuckin’ asked what your dad’s name was.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed in uncertainty. “What? Why?”

“I dunno,” Jester shrugged unhappily, meeting his eyes again. “She said she was doing research on the scourgers and that it came up, but I dunno if I believe her. Feels like some kinda trick to me…”

Her wizard hesitated, taking a deep breath in through his nose and sitting down heavily on the bed. 

He dried his sweaty palms on his pants. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked down at the floor. “And… what did you tell her?” he asked quietly.

“I told her it was none of her business,” Jester told him honestly. She came to sit down next to him. “She doesn’t know you’re alive yet, Cayleb. Don’t worry.”

“That is not what I am worried about,” Caleb murmured.

He reached over blindly, fumbling for her hand; Jester softened and took it, interlacing their fingers and squeezing them tight for support. Fjord ducked his head at that, glancing away self-consciously for a moment, but he pulled himself together despite the sting in his chest. Their little group of seven sat there in silence for a few seconds, waiting out the familiar quiet of Caleb processing. Compartmentalizing.

Finally, Caleb sucked in another breath and raised his head. “There is something that you must know about this woman,” he murmured. “She is an enchanter. I imagine a very powerful one.”

“Yeah, Essek told us that much,” Beau murmured. “Or… he guessed that much and you just confirmed it.”

“Trent is an enchanter too.”

Several of the Mighty Nein felt their brows shoot up.  _ Oh. _

Caleb pushed forward, eager to expel the words from his body, as if they were harming him the longer that he let them stay on his tongue. “Emmeline Becker was-- _ is, _ four years older than myself, and my… old friends,” he murmured. “Which does not seem like much now, but when we were sixteen,  _ she _ was twenty. She was a teacher’s assistant at the Academy. She specialized in enchantment, just like--  _ him.” _

He licked his dry lips. “She had friends. Even back then, seventeen years ago, she possessed a, ah… one particular ally that  _ required  _ our teacher just to defeat. A… blue dragonborn male. A sorcerer of darkness. If he is still around nowadays, we must be wary.”

“A  _ dragonborn?” _ Yasha whispered softly to Beau.

Beau made a bewildered, offhanded gesture and returned her attention to Caleb.

Their wizard, meanwhile, continued as if he had not heard. “But I digress!” he stated aloud, his voice distant. “Enchanters and enchantresses are dangerous in a way that most wizards do not have the capability to be. Enchanters -- just as Trent, and I imagine Frau Becker, as well -- their manipulative abilities extend beyond magic. The school of enchantment requires an unparalleled knowledge of the way that… the  _ mind  _ works. That  _ emotions  _ work. As a result, they are unparalleled strategists, talkers, and manipulators. Without expending so much as a spell slot, a capable enough enchanter possesses the… ah… capability to make their enemies destroy themselves. I can imagine  _ many  _ reasons why she would want to know my father’s name. None of them bode well for my… rather offset emotional state. She knows that you all are angry. If she wishes to use that against you, it would be easy to do. But the same applies for our new ‘allies.’”

Caleb licked his dry lips, straightening up and meeting each of their eyes meaningfully. “We have been dragged into this situation with the Assembly. Becker is cunning, and she used all of that cunning to cripple us as surely as one rogue mage can. This has painted us in an untrustworthy light. If we do not cooperate with the Cerberus Assembly -- with  _ him,  _ with  _ them  _ \-- we run the risk of worse things happening. I do not want to hurt… Astrid and Eodwulf more than I already have. I do not want to hurt Emmeline Becker more than I already have, either...”

He looked down. “So, I cannot guarantee that I will act with cold intelligence in this… situation. But… if it comes down to choosing you all, my old friends, or  _ her,  _ rest assured that I will choose  _ you  _ over all...” he whispered. “And  _ her  _ over my old friends.”

“But… what does that mean for, you know--” 

Eyes turned to Beau. The woman watched Caleb worriedly. “They want to catch that bitch, and you want to help her get  _ away?” _

“Yes,” Caleb whispered painfully. “Should the opportunity arise.”

“But that’s gonna get you in trouble, man!”

“Not if you don’t tell them.”

“Well, of  _ course  _ we won’t tell them…” Beau admitted, her voice weakening. “But we might not have a choice, you know?”

“Then, I am relying on you to cover for me,” Caleb murmured, his voice hard and steady. He looked around at each member of his little family. “And I expect -- I  _ plead  _ with all of you -- that you respect my wishes concerning this woman. Do this. For me.”

A heavy, dark silence weighed down on them all. For what felt like an eternity, Caleb waited, anxiety building like acid in his throat.

Then, Jester gently squeezed his hand. He looked at her quickly, exhaling shakily as the tiefling rested her head on his shoulder. She didn’t even have to say it. “Thank you,” Caleb whispered softly. “I am sorry… so sorry, that my actions in my youth have caused you all to feel such duress…”

“Fine.” Beau folded her arms even tighter, looking down at the floor. Tension practically vibrated in the lines of her shoulders. “If we end up face to face with her, we’ll let her go.”

“For you,” Veth added quietly, taking Caleb’s other hand.

Caleb gave his friends a faltering smile. “Thank you…”

“That still leaves one of many unanswered questions, though,” Beau pointed out, her voice rough. “Why’d she ask for your dad’s name?”

Caleb considered that for a long moment, chewing a strip of skin clean from the corner of his lips. “If I am honest, I am not one hundred percent sure. I only have suspicions,  _ all  _ of which are alarming to me.”

“Like what?” Veth asked, frowning. Her brows shot up, her eyes suddenly widening. “What, do you think your dad’s  _ alive  _ or something?”

“Oh, dear gods, please do not-- Please do not  _ joke…” _ Caleb whispered, a wave of shame forcing every drop of blood from his face. He coughed and rubbed at his white cheeks, his heart rate spiking with sickening, ice-cold dread at the very thought.  _ “Never  _ say that again, please… Um… None of my guesses are  _ nearly  _ as terrifying as that.”

He actually had to take a few seconds to pull himself back to reality. “Ah… but… that does… that does make me… realize something…”

Caleb cleared his throat quietly, once again looking down, focusing his eyes no higher than chest level. He slapped at his cheeks, trying to get some color back in them. “If, ah… if we are going to be associating with my old friends, I, um… I feel like you should-- perhaps know a bit of the truth,” he whispered weakly. “About me. And my old friends.”

Fjord frowned, searching Caleb’s face to no avail. Did he really have such a hard time saying those names?

Beau blinked in surprise. Was he really gonna tell the story? Tell them _ all? _

The Nein stood there, respectful in their silence, as Caleb visibly pulled himself back together… then he met Fjord’s eyes. The half orc straightened subconsciously, wavering at the sheer weight of that gaze set on him in that moment. “I told you,” their wizard whispered. “That… I killed my own flesh and blood. Do-- Do you remember...?”

Jester’s breath caught in her throat. Suddenly Veth’s comment stung in her chest.

Fjord’s heart ached silently for him. He nodded soberly. “Yes. I remember.”

“What… _ When?”  _ Beau whispered.

“On the Balleater. It was a while ago,” Caleb murmured.

“Oh…”

Beau clamped her mouth shut and stuck close to Yasha, taking solace in their barbarian’s big, warm body. Yasha wrapped a muscular arm around her monk, brows furrowed and eyes worried as she looked between Caleb and the rest.

Meanwhile, Caleb’s fingers tightened around Jester’s. It was his greatest nightmare that she might let go now. Move away, when it felt like she was the only thing keeping him from falling a thousand feet into darkness. Veth and Beau knew the details. Fjord only knew that he had killed his family for the Cerberus Assembly. 

The others… Jester… He had no way of knowing how much she had guessed about him.

Finally, he braced himself, and pushed forward, not meeting any of their eyes. “Astrid and Eadwulf were willing to do anything that... Ikithon asked of them. And their final test was to kill their own flesh and blood… And they did so. And… And I am like them. W--was…” No.  _ “Am. Am _ like them.”

“Was,” Beau murmured, gazing at him steadily.

“We share a road with a lot of people,” Caduceus told him softly. “That doesn't mean that they're all the same, especially when you take a crossroads.”

Caleb chewed on the inside of his cheek… then Jester’s voice made his gut sink.

“So you-- you did it?” she asked him softly.

Those words were like acid in old wounds, burning and opening him in ways he hadn’t even expected. Even though her voice was soft and forgiving, that hateful demon curled in his belly told him that she was hurt. Betrayed. That she was saddened so immensely by this. That he would mount her like a mindless dog in heat before he confessed his greatest sin.

“I-I-I have considered... sharing all this for a long time, but…” Caleb swallowed his own swelling sick. It felt like his blood had turned to ice water in his veins. “You cherish your family so much. And… I suppose I enjoyed being seen as I should have been… Or-- or could have been.”

Jester nestled closer to him, hiding her face in her wizard’s shoulder and pressing a soft, worried kiss against his skin.

Caleb’s throat closed up. He beat back the tears, burning like fire behind his eyes. “There is a reason I have never told you about my mother and father…” he whispered.

“You must've been so sad, Caleb…” Jester whined softly. “I'm sorry you felt like you had to hide that…”

Caleb inhaled sharply, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Well, I've been lying to you. And I am sorry.”

“We lie.” Jester pulled back, just enough to gaze up sweetly into his eyes. Ashamed blue met warm, forgiving violet. “We lie about things all the time to protect other people…” she told him. “Sometimes to protect ourselves. I don't blame you for that…”

Caleb took a deep breath, breaking eye contact. “Whatever we end up doing here… I've come in the hopes of atoning.”

He could feel anger and bitterness swell in the air again. He quickly pushed on. “A-And... That idea has evolved quite a bit over time. And I'm not sure what the exact answer is, but I mean to atone.”

“What does atonement look like to you, Caleb?”

Caleb glanced up at the unexpected question from Yasha. The barbarian’s blue and purple eyes were dark, severe.

He thought about that honestly, licking his lips. “Well, I feel like the things that I've seen, no one should see… Never again.”

“So we should put a stop to it, then!” Jester insisted.

“Well, it's complicated, isn't it…?” Caleb insisted back, his voice hushed. “It's wrapped up in the ruling of a  _ nation.” _

“You've come a long way since me, you, and Nott were huddled up in that hotel room,” Beau observed steadily, earnestly. “I said then you had a responsibility and that none of us would see you differently.”

“No one should be put through that,” Caduceus said quietly.

“No…” Yasha whispered, agreeing fiercely and softly.

Beau looked into Caleb’s eyes. “No one blames you.”

Caleb couldn’t meet hers. “Well…” he whispered back, all the weight of his past deeds pressing down on his aching heart. “One person does…”

Beau chewed on the inside of her cheek, resigned. Jester just cuddled Caleb harder.

“Anyway.” Caleb cleared his throat and pressed his cheek tenderly into Jester’s hair, wordlessly reassuring her. “I find it hard to imagine working with Wulf and you not knowing the whole picture,” he told them decisively. “That's the whole picture… and if I can, I want to learn a little bit what's going on in my colleagues' heads…”

Beau’s brows lowered. “Caleb. The guy cut me in half.”

Caleb flinched silently.

“He looked pretty far gone,” Beau finished. The flinch didn’t escape her notice, but she had to be honest, even if the truth was hard to hear.

Caleb took an unsteady breath, holding tight to Jester’s hand. “I have to  _ try,  _ Beauregard.”

“You just said that you’d choose Becker over Astrid and Eodwulf. Even after sayin’ that, you think there's something redeemable? Think they're worth saving?”

“They're worth saving, ja…” Caleb whispered. “Whether or not we  _ can, _ I don't know.”

“Did they ever waver?”

Their wizard glanced up again, attention snagged briefly by Fjord. “Or have they remained...  _ believers _ this entire time?” the half-orc asked, brows lowered darkly over golden eyes.

Caleb took a steadying breath, casting his mind back to those days, trying desperately to recall. He  _ wanted  _ to say yes. “Well, as children... no. They never wavered,” he replied quietly. “Not to my recollection. We were very...  _ avid  _ in our duties.”

“So you never wavered either,” Jester asked softly. It wasn’t really a question. Just a confirmation.

Caleb’s jaw set. “...No.”

“And it was the…”  _ Murdering your parents?  _ Fuck, she couldn’t say that. Jester struggled for a moment, trying to buy time with her hands. “The _ final act _ that made you change your beliefs?” 

“What about this Becker thing?” Beau asked, frowning. “Was this something that contributed to that?”

“I-It was…” Caleb hesitated, trailing off for a moment. He licked his dry lips, trying to find some tasteful way to describe what had happened and failing miserably. “The… events with Emmeline Becker were… different, than what I had done before. It left a personal scar… to see something like that happen to another person, as a-- direct? Indirect? A result of my actions. I did not waver at the time. A-After all, so much time was put into  _ stamping me _ into a specific shape…. And it was comforting to know your place... and serve... the  _ greater  _ good. But, uh... I-- I failed my people. My people...”

Caduceus’s eyes hardened. “I feel like they failed  _ you.” _

“Yeah, your family sent you off to the Academy, didn't they?” Jester blurted. “They believed those same things, right?”

Caleb, again, had to think about it. It had been so long since he had spoken genuinely to his parents… even by the time that he had set their cottage ablaze. He coughed and cleared his throat, distancing himself from the subject. “To a degree. Yes, my parents were very big believers in the Empire, but… they also...  _ loved  _ me.”

He glanced between their clerics. “As wholly as your family, Caduceus, or _ yours…”  _ he confessed, looking down at his hand entwined with Jester’s.

“It's not a failure on your part,” Beau insisted, refusing to break her focus on his face. She had to reach out. She had to help him  _ realize. _ “It's a failure on the Empire's. I don't think that it's by coincidence that your core beliefs -- that you were doing something _ for the greater good _ \-- led you to us and what we're doing now. That's the truth.”

“Well, it remains to be seen what we can do... but maybe we can do,” Caleb murmured, still dissociating slightly.

Beau sighed, glancing over at Fjord. “Had a conversation with Fjord the other week. When we were still in Rumblecusp,” she replied steadily. “Think we're doing good? What we're doing as a group?”

Caleb nodded firmly at the floor. “I do.”

“I mean, that's pretty dope, right?”

That caught him off guard. Caleb coughed a laugh. “Yeah, the Mighty Nein is... is pretty dope.”

The entire group seemed to relax a little bit. Fjord hid a smile behind his hand. Jester giggled happily and squeezed herself into Caleb’s side.

Beau grinned, proud of herself. “Fuck yeah.”

Caleb sobered up quickly, rubbing at his eyes. “Still. The stage is a little bit bigger.”

Suddenly, Yasha piped up. “I have a question.”

Everyone glanced at her. “Did they do this with every student at the Academy, or were you just a select few that were…?” Yasha shrugged helplessly.  _ “‘Chosen?’” _

“...Trent has an eye for talent. And to my understanding, we were just the latest,” Caleb told them honestly, managing to make eye contact with a few members of his little family. “We were not the first and we were not to be the last...”

“You three were a bit of a class?” Caduceus confirmed.

“Ja…”

Their wizard smirked bitterly, bowing his head. “Boy... I have thought a lot about this for a long time and talked to no one about it! I-I don't know all the answers, but we certainly all came from humble means,” he murmured, swimming in old memories. “No family name to speak of. I was... very good at what I did. Even at a young age. Eodwulf was... not only very  _ capable, _ but he was strong, and I think that caught Trent's eye. And Astrid…”

He hesitated, struggling for the words. It felt out of place to think about her while tucked into Jester’s side, like only a lover could be. 

“Maybe is a bit like... Trent,” Caleb finally confessed. It felt like he had swallowed a pouch of marbles. “Maybe that's unkind…”

He sighed deeply, resigning himself to the truth. “She had a hunger. Ambition.”

“Do you think the Academy knows what he does?” Jester suddenly asked, sitting up.

Fjord frowned. “Who,  _ Trent?” _

Jester disentangled herself from Caleb, gesturing animatedly. “Yeah, do you think like-- Ludinus goes, ‘Okay, Trent, now go find the people and now we'll have them go do horrible things,’ or do you think it's like! He knows? That Trent finds these good wizards and brings them up to the forefront! Do you think anybody else knows the brutal things that he does?!”

“Someone knows,” Beau deadpanned. It only made sense.

“The Academy I do not believe knows,” Caleb murmured. “The Assembly…”

“The Assembly, someone has to,” Beau confirmed, looking at the others.

“Some of them, Ludinus... intimated that he had some idea...”

Jester huffed, then snuggled aggressively back into Caleb’s side, jostling him. “Well, I hate them  _ all  _ now!” she informed him.

Fjord shrugged off the wall, stepping forward and raising a hand. “J-Just so I have it clear. You’re--  _ We're _ going to try and redeem… Emmeline, and Astrid and Eodwulf, but... Trent. Fuck  _ him, _ right? Or are you trying to…?”

“Yeah, I mean, it's always been fuck Trent, right?” Beau confirmed, eyeing their wizard.

Fjord nodded uncertainly, brows furrowed. “Just to be clear...”

Caleb was deathly silent, eyes fixed on the air between them.

The concept was… so many things at once. It was intriguing. It was _ nauseating.  _ It implied that there was something left in Trent Ikithon that was worth saving. For the briefest moment, he found the idea sliding around in his brain -- cold and razor sharp and  _ painful  _ in the most unexpected places -- as if he had swallowed a razor blade. For  _ years  _ in his youth, he had looked up to him. Feared him. Respected him and his teachings. Embraced the pain that Trent had inflicted on them all. Raw iron did not become steel by treating it gently, after all. The most skilled blacksmiths had to pulverise their metal, break it down, and melt it down in fire to rid it of its impurities. The idea that someone could do that to a  _ child… _ It was a horrible, sickening skill. It was a skill that no one else in the Assembly had, apparently. Thank the gods that was true. But it placed  _ Trent Ikithon _ and _ Caleb Widogast _ in such opposition. The sword and the swordsmith. There were times where he hated Trent for his work. For his pain. For ruining his life.

And then there would be… these moments.  _ Moments… _ when Caleb only was able to solve an equation because he remembered one of Master Ikithon’s lectures. Or pushing through pain and saving the life of one of his friends because Master Ikithon had shown him how to endure something worse.

There was  _ “Trent,” _ a name spat with venom and disgust. And then there was  _ “Master Ikithon,”  _ a title, an announcement that commanded fear and respect. 

“Oh no, do you sort of like Trent?!” Jester cried, worry pitching her voice higher. “Do you have -- like -- some weird thing because he, like, treated you nice a long time ago?!”

Once again, Caleb didn’t know how to answer.  _ Trent. Master Ikithon.  _ They were the  _ same man. _ Killing him meant destroying what very well might be his maker. Killing him meant taking vengeance for a past dead and buried. It was wonderfully, deliciously  _ satisfying  _ to think about squeezing that devil’s throat until he expired… but if Caleb was honest with himself, he was unsure if he could, if he had the opportunity. He could not let it go. He could not let  _ Trent  _ live. Master Ikithon, however… For him, the answer did not feel as simple. Of course he wanted Trent to die. It just wasn’t that simple. The politics, the power vacuum, what it would do to  _ him... _

Thankfully, Caduceus saved him from having to answer.

“I think a goal is always better than a grudge,” the firbolg stated quietly. “What's the goal?”

Caleb gave Caduceus a grateful look. He took a deep breath and rubbed his face, giving himself a moment to think. “The goal is to get my spellbook back,” he stated into his palms, muffled, rage and anxiety burning like electricity under his skin. “For that to happen, we need Frau Becker to make the trade tomorrow night. For  _ that _ to happen, I need her brother’s corpse, and for  _ that _ to happen, I need Eodwulf to show me the gravesite. And for  _ that, _ I need to establish some  _ iota  _ of trust with him… which I am as of yet  _ unsure  _ how to do…”

“But that’s the goal,” Caduceus murmured.

“Yes.” Caleb cleared his throat, decisively ignoring the razor blade memories. “That is the goal.”

Suddenly, outside, they all heard a sound. An unfamiliar sound to all but Caleb.

The beating of a griffon’s wings.

“Ah shit--” Fjord hissed, instinctively feeling for his sword. “He’s here.”

“Good timing, I suppose…” Caleb sighed. He squeezed Jester’s hand gently, glancing at her. “Would you stay behind? For just a moment? There is something important that I--”

The tiefling perked up. “Oh!”

“--That I would like to discuss with you, yes…” Caleb murmured, his eyes down on their interlaced fingers.

“Well sure, of course…!” Jester exclaimed softly.

“We’ll, uh, stall him,” Yasha muttered, glancing at Beau. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! Of course. C’mon, guys.”

One by one, the five others trickled out of the room, finally giving Caleb his space. Fjord stole one last glance back at their wizard -- the knot in his stomach settling a little deeper -- but he took a breath, pulled himself together, and kept walking.

Beau eyed her captain, raised a brow back at Caleb, then followed him downstairs.

Once they were alone, Jester crawled unhappily into her wizard’s lap and plopped down, her tail wrapping around his waist. She squeezed his shoulders, just cuddling him wordlessly. “I’m here, Cayleb,” she mumbled.

“Ja…” He exhaled quietly and reached up, rubbing her back. “I… I know…”

“So… what is it you wanted to talk about…?”

Caleb licked his lips hesitantly, not acknowledging that Jester’s weight was making his legs fall asleep. “I, ah-- I know… I know that you can take care of yourself,” he told her softly, turning his eyes to her face. “And I know that this is a lot to ask of you. But… for the time being, we should not show any affection towards each other in public until the danger is past.”

Jester groaned loudly, eyes rolling back. “Cayleeeeeb…!”

“I-I know, I know, and-- I know that you can handle yourself!” Caleb insisted, searching her huffy face. “But I am still worried. Please. Do this for me.”

Jester pressed her lips into a grumpy line. “Cayleb.”

“Ja?”

“Did you talk to Fjord about the threesome like I asked you to, though?”

That startled a laugh out of him. He quickly silenced himself and swallowed. “A-Ah… about that.”

“Cayleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeb!”

“I _ know…” _

“You said that you would talk to hiiiiiim!”

“Jester, he wasn’t  _ ready,”  _ Caleb insisted softly, cupping her freckled cheek. “He needed reassurance in the moment. And he  _ still  _ needs it.”

The blue tiefling sighed noisily and scowled, nuzzling into her wizard’s pale hand. Her skin was like cool water against his overheated flesh, the faint scent of smoke filling her senses. “Okay…” she mumbled. “M’sorry…”

“No,  _ I’m _ sorry…” 

Caleb sighed wistfully, hesitated, and pressed a ghost of a kiss to her lips. Jester pouted at him, then stole a tiny kiss from him too. He smiled lopsidedly at that, blue eyes meeting violet. “You are likely a better candidate for being-- well,  _ candid  _ with him,” he confessed to her, his voice hushed. “I give you my blessing to encourage the… future exchanges between him and me.”

Jester pouted at him even more. “You make it sound like a trade agreement…”

“Oh, a trade agreement would be far less frightening than this.” Caleb looked away, a faint pink flush mantling his cheeks. “I… I did have an idea.”

She raised her brows. “Ohh?”

“Ja.” He took both her hands and stared down at them pointedly. “Now. This is by no means a good idea. But if you are-- avid on including Fjord in this, then perhaps you should have an excuse to be close to him?”

Jester cocked her head for a moment… then it clicked.

A slow, wicked smile spread over her lips. “Oooooooh?”

Caleb spotted that grin and immediately put up a finger. “Hey! Hey. Yes. But we will have to ask him nicely if he will.”

“Are Fjord and I gonna pretend to be in a relationshiiiiiiip?”

“Yes.  _ If _ he says yes.”

“Oh, Cayleb, he’ll say yes!” Jester chirped, nuzzling him. He nuzzled her back out of habit, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “He can never say no to you! Just like _youuuuu_ can never say no to _meeeee.”_

“Ja, ja, don’t rub it in…” Caleb whispered, a quiet adoration glittering in his eyes. He kissed her shoulder -- the one that he had injured in their first tryst -- and raised his head to look into her face. “We may not have time to make it an official scheme since Wulf is already here, but try to let the others know to play along.  _ Subtly.  _ Ja?”

“Cayleb!” Jester grinned mischievously and tossed her hair. “I’m surprised at you!  _ Subtle  _ is my middle name.”

“Jester, this is important.”

“I knowwww.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and gazed at him sweetly, honestly. “I’m just trying to make you smile,  _ firecracker.” _

Caleb felt his heart flutter at the pet name. “O-oh. Okay…”

He cleared his throat, blushing an embarrassing pink, and looked down. “Well…” he murmured, giving her thighs a squeeze. “We should get going.”

Jester hopped off his lap. She giggled when he stumbled slightly and had to bend over, rubbing the pins and needles from his leg. “Hey, Cayleb?”

“Ja?” 

He straightened up.

Jester gazed at him warmly, her heart fluttering happily. “I love you.”

Caleb felt a lump rise in his throat. A contrasting sensation flooded his veins. The fiery heat of passion and excitement, alongside a freezing shot of dread, self-hatred, and sickness that twisted his internal organs. Doubt followed like a sour aftertaste… but he smiled crookedly -- bittersweetly -- at her.

“I love you too,” he whispered back. He meant it.

Caleb bowed his head, kissed her knuckles, and released them. Pulling in a deep breath, the wizard buried his conflicting emotions, compartmentalizing and reorganizing his mental state. He smoothed his features, straightened his spine, and walked downstairs. “Come on. Let’s get this done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fake relationship trope cuz im a slut for it-- bruh im so excited aND NOBODY EVEN KNOWS THAT ASTRID AND EADWULF ARE ABOUT TO COME IN ALL TOUSLED AND HUSKY AAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa


End file.
